A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD DETROIT

by

AMANDA M. DOUGLAS

[Illustration]

A. L. Burt CompanyPublishers New York

Copyright, 1902, by Dodd, Mead & Company. 

First Edition Published September, 1902. 

TO

MR. AND MRS. WALLACE R. LESSER

Time and space may divide and years bring changes, but remembrance isboth dawn and evening and holds in its clasp the whole day. 

A. M. D. , NEWARK, N. J. 

CONTENTS

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I. A HALF STORY, 1

 II. RAISING THE NEW FLAG, 16

 III. ON THE RIVER, 33

 IV. JEANNE'S HERO, 50

 V. AN UNKNOWN QUANTITY, 65

 VI. IN WHICH JEANNE BOWS HER HEAD, 82

 VII. LOVERS AND LOVERS, 102

 VIII. A TOUCH OF FRIENDSHIP, 121

 IX. CHRISTMAS AND A CONFESSION, 139

 X. BLOOM OF THE MAY, 157

 XI. LOVE, LIKE THE ROSE, IS BRIERY, 176

 XII. PIERRE, 194

 XIII. AN UNWELCOME LOVER, 209

 XIV. A HIDDEN FOE, 228

 XV. A PRISONER, 243

 XVI. RESCUED, 265

 XVII. A PÆAN OF GLADNESS, 289

 XVIII. A HEARTACHE FOR SOME ONE, 307

 XIX. THE HEART OF LOVE, 327

 XX. THE LAST OF OLD DETROIT, 344

A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD DETROIT. 

CHAPTER I. 

A HALF STORY. 

When La Motte Cadillac first sailed up the Strait of Detroit he kept hisimpressions for after travelers and historians, by transcribing them inhis journal. It was not only the romantic side, but the usefulness ofthe position that appealed to him, commanding the trade from Canada tothe Lakes, "and a door by which we can go in and out to trade with allour allies. " The magnificent scenery charmed the intrepid explorer. Theliving crystal waters of the lakes, the shores green with almosttropical profusion, the natural orchards bending their branches withfruit, albeit in a wild state, the bloom, the riotous, clinging vinestrailing about, the great forests dense and dark with kingly trees wherebirds broke the silence with songs and chatter, and game of all kindsfound a home; the rivers, sparkling with fish and thronged with swansand wild fowl, and blooms of a thousand kinds, made marvelous pictures. The Indian had roamed undisturbed, and built his temporary wigwam insome opening, and on moving away left the place again to solitude. 

Beside its beauty was the prospect of its becoming a mart of commerce. But these old discoverers had much enthusiasm, if great ignorance ofindividual liberty for anyone except the chief rulers. There was avigorous system of repression by both the King of France and the Churchwhich hampered real advance. The brave men who fought Indians, whostruggled against adverse fortunes, who explored the Mississippi valleyand planted the nucleus of towns, died one after another. More than halfa century later the English, holding the substantial theory ofcolonization, that a wider liberty was the true soil in whichadvancement progressed, after the conquest of Canada, opened the lakecountry to newcomers and abolished the restrictions the Jesuits and theking had laid upon religion. 

The old fort at Detroit, all the lake country being ceded, the Frenchrelinquishing the magnificent territory that had cost them so much inprecious lives already, took on new life. True, the French protested, and many of them went to the West and made new settlements. The mostprimitive methods were still in vogue. Canoes and row boats were themethods of transportation for the fur trade; there had been no printingpress in all New France; the people had followed the Indian expedientsin most matters of household supplies. For years there were abortiveplots and struggles to recover the country, affiliation with the Indiansby both parties, the Pontiac war and numerous smaller skirmishes. 

And toward the end of the century began the greatest struggle forliberty America had yet seen. After the war of the Revolution was endedall the country south of the Lakes was ceded to the United Colonies. But for some years England seemed disposed to hold on to Detroit, disbelieving the colonies could ever establish a stable government. Asthe French had supposed they could reconquer, so the English lookedforward to repossession. But Detroit was still largely a French town orsettlement, for thus far it had been a military post of importance. 

So it might justly be called old this afternoon, as almost two centurieshad elapsed since the French had built their huts and made a point forthe fur trade, that Jeanne Angelot sat outside the palisade, leaningagainst the Pani woman who for years had been a slave, from where shedid not know herself, except that she had been a child up in the furcountry. Madame De Longueil had gone back to France with her family andleft the Indian woman to shift for herself in freedom. And then had comea new charge. 

The morals of that day were not over-precise. But though the woman hadhad a husband and two sons, one boy had died in childhood, the other hadbeen taken away by the husband who repudiated her. She was the moreready to mother this child dropped mysteriously into her lap one day byan Indian woman whose tongue she did not understand. 

"Tell it over again, " said Jeanne with an air of authority, a daintyimperiousness. 

She was leaning against one knee, the woman's heels being drawn up closeto her body, making a back to the seat of soft turf, and with her smallhand thumping the woman's brown one against the other knee. 

"Mam'selle, you have heard it so many times you could tell it yourselfin the dark. "

"But perhaps I could not tell it in the daylight, " said the girl, withmischievous laughter that sent musical ripples on the sunny air. 

The woman looked amazed. 

"Why should you be better able to do it at night?"

"O, you foolish Pani! Why, I might summon the _itabolays_--"

"Hush! hush! Do not call upon such things. "

"And the _shil loups_, though they cannot talk. And the _windigoes_--"

"Mam'selle!" The Indian woman made as if she would rise in anger andcrossed herself. 

"O, Pani, tell the story. Why, it was night you always say. And so Iought to have some night-sight or knowledge. And you were feeling lonelyand miserable, and--why, how do you know it was not a _windigo_?"

"Child! child! you set one crazy! It was flesh and blood, a squaw with ablanket about her and a great bundle in her arms. And I did not go inthe palisade that night. I had come to love Madame and the children, andit was hard to be shoved out homeless, and with no one to care. There isfondness in the Indian blood, Mam'selle. "

The Indian's voice grew forceful and held a certain dignity. The childpatted her hand and pressed it up to her cheek with a caressing touch. 

"The De Bers wanted to buy me, but Madame said no. And Touchas, theOutawa woman, had bidden me to her wigwam. I heard the bell ring and thegates close, and I sat down under this very oak--"

"Yes, this is _my_ tree!" interrupted the girl proudly. 

"I thought it some poor soul who had lost her brave, and she came closeup to me, so close I heard the beads and shells on her leggings shakewith soft sound. But I could not understand what she said. And when Iwould have risen she pushed me back with her knee and dropped somethingheavy in my lap. I screamed, for I knew not what manner of evil spiritit might be. But she pressed it down with her two hands, and the childwoke and cried, and reaching up flung its arms around my neck, while thewoman flitted swiftly away. And I tried to hush the sobbing littlething, who almost strangled me with her soft arms. "

"O Pani!" The girl sprang up and encircled her again. 

"I felt bewitched. I did not know what to do, but the poor, tremblinglittle thing was alive, though I did not know whether you were human ornot, for there are strange shapes that come in the night, and when oncethey fasten on you--"

"They never let go, " Jeanne laughed gayly. "And I shall never let go ofyou, Pani. If I had money I should buy you. Or if I were a man I wouldget the priest to marry us. "

"O Mam'selle, that is sinful! An old woman like me! And no one can bebought to-day. "

Jeanne gave her another hug. "And you sat here and held me--" forwardingthe story. 

"I did not dare stir. It grew darker and all the air was sweet withfalling dews and the river fragrance, and the leaves rustled together, the stars came out for there was no moon to check them. On the Beaufeitfarm they were having a dance. Susanne Beaufeit had been married thatnoon in St. Anne. The sound of the fiddles came down like strange voicesfrom out the woods and I was that frightened--"

"Poor Pani!" caressing the hand tenderly. 

"Then you stopped sobbing but you had tight hold of my neck. Suddenly Igathered you up and ran with all my might to Touchas' hut. The curtainwas up and the fire was burning, and I had grown stiff with cold andjust stumbled on the floor, laying you down. Touchas was so amazed. 

"'Whose child is that?' she said. 'Why, your eyes are like moons. Haveyou seen some evil thing?'"

"And you thought me an evil thing, Pani!" said the child reproachfully. 

"One never can tell. There are strange things, " and the woman shook herhead. "And Touchas was so queer she would not touch you at first. Iunrolled the torn piece of blanket and there you were, a pretty littlechild with rings of shining black hair, and fair like French babies, butnot white like the English. And there was no sign of Indian about you. But you slept and slept. Then we undressed you. There was a name pinnedto your clothes, and a locket and chain about your neck and a tiny ringon one finger. And on your thigh were two letters, 'J. A. , ' which meantJeanne Angelot, Father Rameau said. And oh, Mam'selle, _petite fille_, you slept in my arms all night and in the morning you were as hungry assome wild thing. At first you cried a little for _maman_ and then youlaughed with the children. For Touchas' boys were not grown-up men then, and White Fawn had not met her brave who took her up to St. Ignace. "

"I might have dropped from the clouds, " said the child mirthfully. "TheGreat Manitou could have sent me to you. "

"But you talked French. Up in the above they will speak in Latin as thegood fathers do. That is why they use it in their prayers. "

Jeanne nodded with a curl of disbelief in her red-rose mouth. 

"So then Touchas and I took you to Father Rameau and I told him thestory. He has the clothes and the paper and the locket, which has twofaces in it--we all thought they were your parents. The letters on itare all mixed up and no one can seem to make them out. And the ring. Hethought some one would come to inquire. A party went out scouting, butthey could find no trace of any encampment or any skirmish where therewas likely to be some one killed, and they never found any trace. TheEnglish Commandant was here then and Madame was interested in you. Madame Bellestre would have you baptized in the old church to make sure, and because you were French she bade me bring you there and care foryou. But she had to die and M. Bellestre had large interests in thatwonderful Southern town, New Orleans, where it is said oranges and figsand strange things grow all the year round. Mademoiselle Bellestre wasjealous, too, she did not like her father to make much of you. So hegave me the little house where we have lived ever since and twice he hassent by some traders to inquire about you, and it is he who sees that wewant for nothing. Only you know the good priest advises that you shouldgo in a retreat and become a sister. "

"But I never shall, never!" with emphasis, as she suddenly sprang up. "To be praying all day in some dark little hole and sleep on a hard bedand count beads, and wear that ugly black gown! No, I told Father Rameauif anyone shut me up I should shout and cry and howl like a panther! AndI would bang my head against the stones until it split open and let outmy life. "

"O Jeanne! Jeanne!" cried the horror-stricken woman. "That is wicked, and the good God hears you. "

The girl's cheeks were scarlet and her eyes flashed like points offlame. They were not black, but of the darkest blue, with strange, steely lights in them that flashed and sparkled when she was roused intemper, which was often. 

"I think I will be English, or else like these new colonists that aretaking possession of everything. I like their religion. You don't haveto go in a convent and pray continually and be shut out of all beautifulthings!"

"You are very naughty, Mam'selle. These English have spoiled so manypeople. There is but one God. And the good French fathers know what isright. "

"We did well enough before the French people came, Pani, " said a soft, rather guttural voice from the handsome half-breed stretched out lazilyon the other side of the tree where the western sunshine could fall onhim. 

"You were not here, " replied the woman, shortly. "And the French havebeen good to me. Their religion saves you from torment and teaches youto be brave. And it takes women to the happy grounds beyond the sky. "

"Ah, they learned much of their bravery from the Indian, who can suffertortures without a groan or a line of pain in the face. Is there anybetter God than the great Manitou? Does he not speak in the thunder, inthe roar of the mighty cataract, and is not his voice soft when hechants in the summer night wind? He gives a brave victory over hisenemies, he makes the corn grow and fills the woods with game, the lakeswith fish. He is good enough God for me. "

"Why then did he let the French take your lands?"

The man rose up on his elbow. 

"Because we were cowards!" he cried fiercely. "Because the priests madeus weak with their religion, made women of us, called us to theirmumbling prayers instead of fighting our enemies! They and the Englishgave us their fire water to drink and stole away our senses! And nowthey are both going to be driven out by these pigs of Americans. Itserves them right. "

"And what will _you_ do, Monsieur Marsac?" asked Pani with innocentirony. 

"Oh, I do not care for their grounds nor their fights. I shall go upnorth again for furs, and now the way is open for a wider trade and aman can make more money. I take thrift from my French father, you see. But some day my people will rise again, and this time it will not be aPontiac war. We have some great chiefs left. We will not be crowded outof everything. You will see. "

Then he sprang up lithe and graceful. He was of medium size but so wellproportioned that he might have been modeled from the old Greeks. Hishair was black and straight but had a certain softness, and his skin waslike fine bronze, while his features were clearly cut. Now and then someman of good birth had married an Indian woman by the rites of theChurch, and this Hugh de Marsac had done. But of all their children onlyone remained, and now the elder De Marsac had a lucrative post atMichilimackinac, while his son went to and fro on business. Outside ofthe post in the country sections the mixed marriages were quite common, and the French made very good husbands. 

"Mam'selle Jeanne, " he said with a low bow, "I admire your courage andtaste. What one can see to adore in those stuffy old fathers puzzles me!As for praying in a cell, the whole wide heavens and earth that God hasmade lifts up one's soul to finer thoughts than mumbling over beads orworshiping a Christ on the cross. And you will be much too handsome, mybrier rose, to shut yourself up in any Recollet house. There will belovers suing for your pretty hand and your rosy lips. "

Jeanne hid her face on Pani's shoulder. The admiring look did not suither just now though in a certain fashion this young fellow had been herplaymate and devoted attendant. 

"Let us go back home, " she exclaimed suddenly. 

"Why hurry, Mam'selle? Let us go down to King's wharf and see the boatscome in. "

Her eyes lighted eagerly. She gave a hop on one foot and held out herhand to the woman, who rose slowly, then put the long, lean arm aboutthe child's neck, who smiled up with a face of bloom to the wrinkled andwithered one above her. 

Louis Marsac frowned a little. What ailed the child to-day? She wasgenerally ready enough to demand his attentions. 

"Mam'selle, you brought your story to an abrupt termination. I thoughtyou liked the accessories. The procession that marched up the aisle ofSt. Anne's, the shower of kisses bestowed upon you after possible evilhad been exorcised by holy water; the being taken home in MadameBellestre's carriage--"

"If I wanted to hear it Pani could tell me. Walk behind, Louis, the pathis narrow. "

"I will go ahead and clear the way, " he returned with dignified sarcasm, suiting his pace to the action. 

"That is hardly polite, Monsieur. "

"Why yes. If there was any danger, I would be here to face it. I am theadvance guard. "

"There never is any danger. And Pani is tall and strong. I am notafraid. "

"Perhaps you would rather I would not go? Though I believe you acceptedmy invitation heartily. "

Just then two half drunken men lurched into the path. Drunkenness wasone of the vices of that early civilization. Marsac pushed them asidewith such force that the nearer one toppling against the other, bothwent over. 

"Thank you, Monsieur; it was good to have you. "

Jeanne stretched herself up to her tallest and Marsac suddenly realizedhow she had grown, and that she was prettier than a year ago with somecharm quite indescribable. If she were only a few years, older--

"A man is sometimes useful, " he returned dryly, glancing at her with ahalf laugh. 

After the English had possession of Detroit, partly from the spirit ofthe times, the push of the newcomers, and the many restrictions thatwere abolished, the Detroit river took on an aspect of business thatamazed the inhabitants. Sailing vessels came up the river, merchantmenloaded with cargoes instead of the string of canoes. And here was one atthe old King's wharf with busy hands, whites and Indians, running to andfro with bales and boxes, presenting a scene of activity not oftenwitnessed. Others had come down to see it as well. Marsac found a littlerise of ground occupied by some boys that he soon dispossessed and putthe woman and child in their places, despite black looks and mutterings. 

What a beautiful sight it all was, Jeanne thought. Up the Strait, as theriver was often called, to the crystal clear lake of St. Clair and theopposite shore of Canada, with clumps of dense woods that seemedguarding the place, and irregular openings that gave vistas of the faraway prospect. What was all that great outside world like? After St. Clair river, Lake Huron and Michilimackinac? There were a great missionstation and some nuns, and a large store place for the fur trade. Andthen--Hudson Bay somewhere clear to the end of the world, she thought. 

The men uttered a sort of caroling melody with their work. There weresome strange faces she had never seen before, swarthy people with greatgold hoops in their ears. 

"Are they Americans?" she asked, her idea of Americans being that theywere a sort of conglomerate. 

"No--Spaniards, Portuguese, from the other side of the world. There aremany strange peoples. "

Louis Marsac's knowledge was extremely limited, as education had notmade much of an advance among ordinary people. But he was glad he knewthis when he saw the look of awe that for an instant touched the rosyface. 

There were some English uniforms on the scene. For though the boundarieshad been determined the English Commandant made various excuses, anddemanded every point of confirmation. There had been an acrimoniousdebate on conditions and much vexatious delay, as if he was individuallyloath to surrender his authority. In fact the English, as the French hadbefore them, cherished dreams of recovering the territory, which wouldbe in all time to come an important center of trade. No one had dreamedof railroads then. 

The sun began to drop down behind the high hills with theirtimber-crowned tops. Pani turned. 

"We must go home, " she said, and Jeanne made no objections. She was alittle tired and confused with a strange sensation, as if she hadsuddenly grown, and the bounds were too small. 

Marsac made way for them, up the narrow, wretched street to the gateway. The streets were all narrow with no pretense at order. In some placeswere lanes where carriages could not pass each other. St. Louis streetwas better but irregularly built, with frame and hewn log houses. Therewas the old block house at either end, and the great, high palisades, and the citadel, which served for barracks' stores, and housed some ofthe troops. Here they passed St. Anne's street with its old church andthe military garden at the upper end; houses of one and two stories withpeaked thatched roofs, and a few of more imposing aspect. On the west ofthe citadel near St. Joseph's street they paused before a small cottagewith a little garden at the side, which was Pani's delight. There wereonly two rooms, but it was quite fine with some of the Bellestrefurnishings. At one end a big fireplace and a seat each side of it. Opposite, the sleeping chamber with one narrow bed and a high one, covered with Indian blankets. Beds and pillows of pine and fir needleswere renewed often enough to keep the place curiously fragrant. 

"I will bid you good evening, " exclaimed Marsac with a dignified bow. "Mam'selle, I hope you are not tired out. You look--"

A saucy smile went over her face. "Do I look very strange?" pertly. "AndI am not tired, but half starved. Good night, Monsieur. "

"Pani will soon remedy that. "

The bell was clanging out its six strokes. That was the old signal forthe Indians and whoever lived outside the palisades to retire. 

He bowed again and walked up to the Fort and the Parade. 

"Angelot, " he said to himself, knitting his brow. "Where have I heardthe name away from Detroit? She will be a pretty girl and I must keep aneye on her. "

CHAPTER II. 

RAISING THE NEW FLAG. 

Old Detroit had seemed roomy enough when Monsieur Cadillac planted thelilies of France and flung out the royal standard. And the hardy menslept cheerfully on their beds of fir twigs with blankets drawn overthem, and the sky for a canopy, until the stockade was built and therude fort made a place of shelter. But before the women came it had beenrendered habitable and more secure; streets were laid out, the chapel ofSt. Anne's built, and many houses put up inside the palisades. And therewas gay, cheerful life, too, for French spirits and vivacity could notdroop long in such exhilarating air. 

Canoes and row boats went up and down the river with merry crews. And inMay there was a pole put in what was to be the military garden, and fromit floated the white flag of France. On the green there was a greatconcourse and much merriment and dancing, and not a little love making. For if a soldier asked a pretty Indian maid in marriage, the Commandantwinked at it, and she soon acquired French and danced with the gayest ofthem. 

Then there was a gala time when the furs came in and the sales weremade, and the boats loaded and sent on to Montreal to be shipped acrossthe sea; or the Dutch merchants came from the Mohawk valley or NewAmsterdam to trade. The rollicking _coureurs des bois_, who came to bealmost a race by themselves, added their jollity and often carried ittoo far, ending in fighting and arrests. 

But it was not all gayety. Up to this time there had been two terribleattacks on the fort, and many minor ones. Attempts had been made to burnit; sometimes the garrison almost starved in bad seasons. France, in allher seventy years of possession, never struck the secret of colonizing. The thrifty emigrant in want of a home where he could breathe a freerair than on his native soil was at once refused. The Jesuit rule wasstrict as to religion; the King of France would allow no laws but hisown, and looked upon his colonies as sources of revenue if any could besqueezed out of them, sources of glory if not. 

The downfall of Canada had been a sad blow. The French colonist felt itmore keenly than the people thousands of miles away, occupied with manyother things. And the bitterest of all protests was made by the Jesuitsand the Church. They had been fervent and heroic laborers, and many alife had been bravely sacrificed for the furtherance of the work amongthe Indians. 

True, there had not been a cordial sympathy between the Jesuits and theRecollets, but the latter had proved the greater favorites in Detroit. There was now the Recollet house near the church, where they weretraining young girls and teaching the catechism and the rules of theChurch, as often orally as by book, as few could read. Here were someIndian girls from tribes that had been almost decimated in the savagewars, some of whom were bound out afterward as servants. There wereslaves, mostly of the old Pawnee tribe, some very old, indeed; othershad married, but their children were under the ban of their parents. 

With the coming of the English there was a wider liberty, a newatmosphere, and though the French protested bitterly and could not butbelieve the mother country would make some strenuous effort to recoverthe territory as they temporized with the Indians and held out vaguehopes, yet, as the years passed on, they found themselves insensiblyyielding to the sway, and compelled now and then to fight for theirhomes against a treacherous enemy. Mayor Gladwyn had been a hero to themin his bravery and perseverance. 

There came in a wealthier class of citizens to settle, and officialswere not wanting in showy attire. Black silk breeches and hose, enormousshoe buckles, stiff stocks, velvet and satin coats and beaver hats wereoften seen. Ladies rejoiced in new importations, and in winter wentdecked in costly furs. Even the French damsels relaxed their plainattire and made pictures with their bright kerchiefs tied coquettishlyover curling hair, and they often smiled back at the garrison soldiersor the troops on parade. The military gardens were improved and becameplaces of resort on pleasant afternoons, and the two hundred housesinside the pickets increased a little, encroaching more and more on thenarrow streets. The officers' houses were a little grander; some of thetraders indulged in more show and their wives put on greater airs andfiner gowns and gave parties. The Campeau house was venerable even then, built as it was on the site of Cadillac's headquarters and abounding inmany strange legends, and there were rude pictures of the Canoe withMadame Cadillac, who had made the rough voyage with her ladies and cometo a savage wilderness out of love for her husband; and the old, long, low Cass house that had sheltered so many in the Pontiac war, and theGovernor's house on St. Anne's street, quite grand with its two storiesand peaked roof, with the English colors always flying. 

Many of the houses were plastered over the rough hewn cedar lath, otherswere just of the smaller size trees split in two and the intersticesfilled in. Many were lined with birch bark, with borders of beautifulash and silver birch. Chimneys were used now, great wide spaces at oneend filled in with seats. In winter furs were hung about and oftendropped over the windows at night, which were always closed with tightboard shutters as soon as dusk set in, which gave the streets a gloomyaspect and in nowise assisted a prowling enemy. A great solid oakendoor, divided in the middle with locks and bars that bristled withresistance, was at the front. 

But inside they were comfortable and full of cheer. Wooden benches andchairs, some of the former with an arm and a cushion of spruce twigscovered with a bear or wolf skin, though in the finer houses there wererush bottoms and curiously stained splints with much ornamental Indianwork. A dresser in the living room displayed not only Queen's ware, butsuch silver and pewter as the early colonists possessed, and there werepictures curiously framed, ornaments of wampum and shells and fine beadwork. The family usually gathered here, and the large table standing inthe middle of the floor had a hospitable look heightened by the savorysmells which at that day seemed to offend no one. 

The farms all lay without and stretched down the river and westward. Thepopulation outside had increased much faster, for there was room togrow. There were little settlements of French, others of half-breeds, and not a few Indian wigwams. The squaws loved to shelter themselvesunder the wing of the Fort and the whites. Business of all kinds hadincreased since the coming of the English. 

But now there had occurred another overturn. Detroit had been animportant post during the Revolution, and though General Washington, Jefferson, and Clark had planned expeditions for its attack, it was, atthe last, a bloodless capture, being included in the boundaries named inthe Quebec Act. But the British counted on recapture, and the Indianswere elated with false hopes until the splendid victories of GeneralWayne in northern Illinois against both Indians and English. By hiseloquence and the announcement of the kindly intentions of the UnitedStates, the Chippewa nation made gifts of large tracts of land andrelinquished all claims to Detroit and Mackinaw. 

The States had now two rather disaffected peoples. Many of the Englishprepared to return to Canada with the military companies. The French hadgrown accustomed to the rule and still believed in kings and state andvarious titles. But the majority of the poor scarcely cared, and wouldhave grumbled at any rule. 

For weeks Detroit was in a ferment with the moving out. There weresorrowful farewells. Many a damsel missed the lover to whom she hadpinned her faith, many an irregular marriage was abruptly terminated. The good Recollet fathers had tried to impress the sacredness of familyties upon their flock, but since the coming of the English, the libertyallowed every one, and the Protestant form of worship, there had grown acertain laxness even in the town. 

"It is going to be a great day!" declared Jeanne, as she sprang out ofher little pallet. There were two beds in the room, a great, high-postcarved bedstead of the Bellestre grandeur, and the cot Jacques Pallent, the carpenter, had made, which was four sawed posts, with a frame nailedto the top of them. It was placed in the corner, and so, out of sight, Pani felt that her charge was always safe. In the morning Jeannegenerally turned a somersault that took her over to the edge of the bigbed, from whence she slid down. 

The English had abolished slavery in name, but most of the Pani servantsremained. They seldom had any other than their tribal name. Since thedeparture of the Bellestres Jeanne's guardian had taken on a newdignity. She was a tall, grave woman, and much respected by all. No onewould have thought of interfering with her authority over the child. 

"Hear the cannon at the Fort and the bells. And everybody will be out!Pani, give me some breakfast and let me go. "

"Nay, nay, child. You cannot go alone in such a crowd as this will be. And I must set the house straight. "

"But Marie De Ber and Pierre are to go. We planned it last night. Pierreis a big, strong boy, and he can pick his way through a crowd with hiselbows. His mother says he always punches holes through his sleeves. "

Jeanne laughed gayly. Pierre was a big, raw-boned fellow, a good guardanywhere. 

"Nay, child, I shall go, too. It will not be long. And here is a choicebit of bread browned over the coals that you like so much, and the cornmush of last night fried to a turn. "

"Let me run and see Marie a moment--"

"With that head looking as if thou hadst tumbled among the burrs, orsome hen had scratched it up for a nest! And eyes full of dew webs thatare spun in the grass by the spirits of night. "

"Look, they are wide open!" She buried her face in a pail of water andsplashed it around as a huge bird might, as she raised her beautifullaughing orbs, blue now as the midnight sky. And then she carelesslycombed the tangled curls that fell about her like the spray of awaterfall. 

"Thou must have a coif like other French girls, Jeanne. Berthê Campeauputs up her hair. "

"Berthê goes to the Recollets and prays and counts beads, and will runno more or shout, and sings only dreary things that take the life andgayety out of you. She will go to Montreal, where her aunt is in aconvent, and her mother cries about it. If I had a mother I would notwant to make her cry. Pani, what do you suppose happened to my mother?Sometimes I think I can remember her a little. "

The face so gay and willful a moment before was suddenly touched with asweet and tender gravity. 

"She is dead this long time, _petite_. Children may leave their mothers, but mothers never give up their children unless they are taken fromthem. "

"Pani, what if the Indian woman had stolen me?"

"But she said you had no mother. Come, little one, and eat yourbreakfast. "

Jeanne was such a creature of moods and changes that she forgot hererrand to Marie. She clasped her hands together and murmured her Frenchblessing in a soft, reverent tone. 

Maize was a staple production in the new world, when the fields were notdestroyed by marauding parties. There were windmills that ground itcoarsely and both cakes and porridge were made of it. The Indian womencracked and pounded it in a stone mortar and boiled it with fish orvenison. The French brought in many new ways of cooking. 

"Oh, hear the bells and the music from the Fort! Come, hurry, Pani, ifyou are going with us. Pani, are people slow when they get old?"

"Much slower, little one. "

"Then I don't want to be old. I want to run and jump and climb and swim. Marie knits, she has so many brothers and sisters. But I like leggingsbetter in the winter. And they sew at the Recollet house. "

"And thou must learn to sew, little one. "

"Wait until I am big and old and have to sit in the chimney corner. There are no little ones--sometimes I am glad, sometimes sorry, but ifthey are not here one does not have to work for them. "

She gave a bright laugh and was off like a flash. The Pani woman sighed. She wondered sometimes whether it would not have been better to give herup to the good father who took such an interest in her. But she was allthe poor woman had to love. True she could be a servant in the house, but to have her wild, free darling bound down to rigid rules and madeunhappy was more than she could stand. And had not Mr. Bellestreprovided this home for them?

The woman had hardly put away the dishes, which were almost as much ofan idol to her as the child, when Jeanne came flying back. 

"Yes, hurry, hurry, Pani! They are all ready. And Madame De Ber saidMarie should not go out on such a day unless you went too. She called mefeather headed! As if I were an Indian chief with a great crown offeathers!"

The child laughed gayly. It was as natural to her as singing to a bird. 

Pani gathered up a few last things and looked to see that the fire wasput out. 

Already the streets were being crowded and presented a picturesqueaspect. Inside the stockade the _chemin du ronde_ extended nearly aroundthe town and this had been widened by the necessity of militaryoperations. Soldiers were pouring out of the Citadel and the Fort butthe colonial costume looked queer to eyes accustomed to the whitetrimmings of the French and the red of the British. The latter had madea grander show many a time, both in numbers and attire. There were theold French habitans, gay under every new dispensation, in tannedleathern small clothes, made mostly of deer skin, and blue blouses, bluecap, with a red feather, some disporting themselves in unwonted finerykept for holiday occasions; pretty laughing demoiselles with brightkerchiefs or a scarf of open, knitted lace-like stuff with beads thatsparkled with every coquettish turn of the head; there were Indians withbelted tomahawks and much ornamented garments, gorgets and collars ofrudely beaten copper or silver if they could afford to barter furs forthem, half-breed dandies who were gorgeous in scarlet and jewelry of allsorts, squaws wrapped in blankets, looking on wonderingly, and the newpossessors of Detroit who were at home everywhere. 

The procession formed at the parade in front of the Fort. Some of thearistocracy of the place were out also, staid middle-aged men withpowdered queues and velvet coats, elegant ladies in crimson silkpetticoats and skirts drawn back, the train fastened up with a ribbonor chain which they carried on their arms as they minced along on theirhigh heeled slippers, carrying enormous fans that were parasols as well, and wearing an immense bonnet, the fashion in France a dozen yearsbefore. 

"What is it all about?" asked one and another. 

"They are to put up a new flag. "

"For how long?" in derision. "The British will be back again in notime. "

"Are there any more conquerors to come? We turn our coats at every one'sbidding it seems. "

The detachment was from General Wayne's command and great was thedisappointment that the hero himself was not on hand to celebrate theoccasion; but he had given orders that possession of the place should besignalized without him. Indeed, he did not reach Detroit until a monthlater. 

On July 11, 1796, the American flag was raised above Detroit, and manywho had never seen it gazed stupidly at it, as its red and white stripeswaved on the summer air, and its blue field and white stars shoneproudly from the flag staff, blown about triumphantly on the radiant airshimmering with golden sunshine. 

Shouts went up like volleys. All the Michigan settlements were now apart of the United Colonies, that had so bravely won their freedom andwere extending their borders over the cherished possessions of Franceand England. 

The post was formally delivered up to the governor of the territory. Another flag was raised on the Citadel, which was for the accommodationof the general and his suite at present and whoever was commandant. Itwas quite spacious, with an esplanade in front, now filled by soldiers. There were the almost deafening salutes and the blare of the band. 

"Why it looks like heaven at night!" cried Jeanne rapturously. "I shallbe an American, --I like the stars better than the lilies of France, andthe red cross is hateful. For stars _are_ of heaven, you know, youcannot make them grow on earth. "

A kindly, smiling, elderly man turned and caught sight of the eager, rosy face. 

"And which, I wonder, is the brave General Wayne?"

"He is not here to-day unfortunately and cannot taste the sweets of hismany victories. But he is well worth seeing, and quite as sorry not tobe here as you are to miss him. But he is coming presently. "

"Then it is not the man who is making a speech?--and see what abeautiful horse he has!"

"That is the governor, Major General St. Clair. "

"And General Wayne, is he an American?"

The man gave an encouraging smile to the child's eager inquiry. 

"An American? yes. But look you, child. The only proper Americans wouldbe the Indians. "

She frowned and looked puzzled. 

"A little way back we came from England and France and Holland and Spainand Italy. We are so diverse that it is a wonder we can be harmonized. Only there seems something in this grand air, these mighty forests, these immense lakes and rivers, that nurtures liberty and independenceand breadth of thought and action. Who would have dreamed that clashinginterests could have been united in that one aim, liberty, and that itcould spread itself from the little nucleus, north, south, east, andwest! The young generation will see a great country. And I suppose wewill always be Americans. "

He turned to the young man beside him, who seemed amused at theenthusiasm that rang in his voice and shone in his eyes of light, clearblue as he had smiled down on the child who scarcely understood, buttook in the general trend and was moved by the warmth and glow. 

"Monsieur, there are many countries beside England and France, " she saidthoughtfully. 

"O yes, a world full of them. Countries on the other side of the globeof which we know very little. "

"The other side?" Her eyes opened wide in surprise, and a little creasedeepened in the sunny brow as she flung the curls aside. She wore no hatof any kind in summer. 

"Yes, it is a round world with seas and oceans and land on both sides. And it keeps going round. "

"But, Monsieur, " as he made a motion with his hand to describe it, "whydoes not the water spill out and the ground slide off? What makesit--oh, how can it stick?" with a laugh of incredulity. 

"Because a wisdom greater than all of earth rules it. Are there noschools in Detroit?"

"The English have some and there is the Recollet house and the sisters. But they make you sit still, and presently you go to Montreal or Quebecand are a nun, and wear a long, black gown, and have your head tied up. Why, I should smother and I could not hear! That is so you cannot hearwicked talk and the drunken songs, but I love the birds and the windblowing and the trees rustling and the river rushing and beating up in afoam. And I am not afraid of the Indians nor the _shil loups_, " but shelowered her tone a trifle. 

"Do not put too much trust in the Indians, Mam'selle. And there is the_loup garou_--"

"But I have seen real wolves, Monsieur, and when they bring in the fursthere are so many beautiful ones. Madame De Ber says there is no suchthing as a _loup garou_, that a person cannot be a man and a wolf at thesame time. When the wolves and the panthers and the bears howl at nightone's blood runs chilly. But we are safe in the stockade. "

"There is much for thee to learn, little one, " he said, after a pause. "There must be schools in the new country so that all shall not grow upin ignorance. Where is thy father?"

Jeanne Angelot stared straight before her seeing nothing. Her father?The De Bers had a father, many children had, she remembered. And hermother was dead. 

The address ended and there was a thundering roll of drums, whilecheers went up here and there. Cautious French habitans and tradersthought it wiser to wait and see how long this standard of stripes andstars would wave over them. They were used to battles and conquering anddefeated armies, and this peace they could hardly understand. TheEnglish were rather sullen over it. Was this stripling of newfoundliberty to possess the very earth?

The crowd surged about. Pani caught the arm of her young charge and drewher aside. She was alarmed at the steady scrutiny the young man hadgiven her, though it was chiefly as to some strange specimen. 

"Thou art overbold, Jeanne, smiling up in a young man's face andpuckering thy brows like some maid coquetting for a lover. "

"A young man!" Jeanne laughed heartily. "Why he had a snowy beard like awhite bear in winter. Where were your eyes, Pani? And he told me suchcurious things. Is the world round, Pani? And there are lands and landsand strange people--"

"It is a brave show, " exclaimed Louis Marsac joining them. "I wonder howlong it will last. There are to be some new treaties I hear about thefur trade. That man from the town called New York, a German or some suchthing, gets more power every month. A messenger came this morning and Iam to return to my father at once. Jeanne, I wish thou and Pani wertgoing to the upper lakes with me. If thou wert older--"

She turned away suddenly. Marie De Ber had a group of older girls abouther and she plunged into them, as if she might be spirited away. 

Monsieur St. Armand had looked after his little friend but missed her inthe crowd, and a shade of disappointment deepened his blue eyes. 

"_Mon père_, " began the young man beside him, "evidently thou wert bornfor a missionary to the young. I dare say you discovered untoldpossibilities in that saucy child who knows well how to flirt her curlsand arch her eyebrows. She amused me. Was that half-breed her brother, Iwonder!"

"She was not a half-breed, Laurent. There are curious things in thisworld, and something about her suggested--or puzzled. She has no Indianeyes, but the rarest dark blue I ever saw. And did Indian blood everbreak out in curly hair?"

"I only noticed her swarthy skin. And there is such a mixed-up crew inthis town! Come, the grand show is about over and now we are all rebornAmericans up to the shores of Lake Superior. But we will presently bedue at the Montdesert House. Are we to have no more titles and Frenchnobility be on a level with the plainest, just Sieur and Madame?" with alittle curl of the lips. The elder smiled good naturedly, nay, evenindulgently. 

"The demoiselles are more to thee than that splendid flag waving over afree country. Thou canst return--"

"But the dinner?"

"Ah, yes, then we will go together, " he assented. 

"If we can pick our way through this crowd. What beggarly narrowstreets. Faugh! One can hardly get his breath. Our wilds are to bepreferred. "

By much turning in and out they reached the upper end of St. Louisstreet, which at that period was quite an elevation and overlooked theriver. 

CHAPTER III. 

ON THE RIVER. 

The remainder of the day was devoted to gayety, and with the malepopulation carousing in too many instances, though there wererestrictions against selling intoxicants to the Indians inside thestockade. The Frenchman drank a little and slowly, and was merry andvivacious. Groups up on the Parade were dancing to the inspiritingmusic, or in another corner two or three fiddles played the merriest oftunes. 

Outside, and the larger part of the town was outside now, the farmsstretched back with rude little houses not much more than cabins. Therewas not much call for solidity when a marauding band of Indians mightput a torch to your house and lay it in ashes. But with the new peacewas coming a greater feeling of security. 

There were little booths here and there where squaws were cookingsagamite and selling it in queer dishes made of gourds. There were thelittle maize cakes well-browned, piles of maple sugar and wild summerplums just ripening. The De Ber children, with Jeanne and Pani, tooktheir dinner here and there out of doors with much merriment. It washere Marsac joined them again, his hands full of fruit, which he gave tothe children. 

"Come over to the Strait, " he exclaimed. "That is a sight worth seeing. Everything is out. "

"O yes, " cried Jeanne, eagerly. "And, Louis, can you not get a boat or acanoe? Let us go out on the water. I'm tired of the heat and dust. "

They threaded their way up to Merchants' wharf, for at King's wharf thecrowd was great. At the dock yard, where, under the English, some finevessels had been built, a few were flying pennons of red and white, andsome British ships that had not yet left flaunted their own colors. Asfor the river, that was simply alive with boats of every description;Indian rowers and canoers, with loads of happy people singing, shouting, laughing, or lovers, with heads close together, whispering softendearments or promising betrothal. 

"Stay here while I see if I can get a boat, " said Louis, darting off, disappearing in the crowd. 

They had been joined by another neighbor, Madame Ganeau and her daughterDelisse, and her daughter's lover, a gay young fellow. 

"He will have hard work, " declared Jacques. "I tried. Not a canoe or apirogue or a flat boat. I wish him the joy of success. "

"Then we will have to paddle ourselves, " said Jeanne. "Or float, Marie. I can float beautifully when the tide is serene. "

"I would not dare it for a hundred golden louis d'or, " interposedDelisse. 

"But Jeanne dares everything. Do you remember when she climbed thepalisade? When one has a lover--" and Marie sighed a little. 

"One comes to her senses and is no longer a child, " said Madame Ganeauwith a touch of sharpness in her voice. "The saints alone know what willbecome of that wild thing. Marie, since your mother is so busy with herhousehold, some one should look you up a lover. Thou art most fourteenif I remember rightly. "

"Yes, Madame. "

"Well, there is time to be sure. Delisse will be fifteen on her weddingday. That is plenty old enough. For you see the girl bows to herhusband, which is as it should be. A girl well brought up should have notemper nor ways of her own and then she more easily drops into those ofher husband, who is the head of the house. "

"I have a temper!" laughed Jeanne. "And I do not want any husband torule over me as if I were a squaw. "

"He will rule thee in the end. And if thou triest him too far he maybeat thee. "

"If he struck me I should--I should kill him, " and Jeanne's eyes flashedfire. 

"Thou wilt have more sense, then. And if lovers are shy of thee thouwilt begin to long for them when thou art like a dried up autumn rose onits stem. "

Jeanne bridled and flung up her chin. 

Pierre took her soft hand in his rough one. 

"Do not mind, " he said in a whisper; "I would never beat you even if youdid not have dinner ready. And I will bring you lovely furs and whateveryou want. My father is willing to send me up in the fur country nextyear. "

Jeanne laughed, then turned to sudden gravity and gave back the pressureof the hand in repentance. 

"You are so good to me, Pierre. But I do not want to marry in a long, long time, until I get tired of other things. And I want plenty of themand fun and liberty. "

"Yes, yes, you are full of fun, " approvingly. 

Louis was coming up to them in a fine canoe and some Indian rowers. Hewaved his hand. 

"Good luck, you see! Step in. Now for a glorious sail. Is it up ordown?"

"Down, " cried Jeanne hopping around on one foot, and still hanging toPani. 

They were soon settled within. The river was like a stream of goldenfire, each ripple with a kind of phosphorescent gleam as the foamslipped away. For the oars were beating it up in every direction. Theair was tensely clear. There was Lake St. Clair spread out in thedistance, touching a sky of golden blue, if such colors fuse. And theopposite shore with its wealth of trees and shrubs and beginnings ofSandwich and Windsor and Fort Malden; Au Cochon and Fighting island, Grosse island in the far distance, and Bois Blanc. 

"Sing, " said the lover when they had gone down a little ways, for mostof the crafts were given over to melody and laughter. 

He had a fine voice. Singing was the great delight of those days, andnothing was more beguiling than the songs of the voyageurs. Delissejoined and Marie's soft voice was like a lapping wave. Madame Ganeautalked low to Pani about the child. 

"It will not do for her to run wild much longer, " she said with an airof authority. "She is growing so fast. Is there no one? Had not FatherRameau better write to M. Bellestre and see what his wishes are? Andthere is the Recollet house, though girls do not get much training forwives. Prayers and beads and penance are all well enough, some deservethem, but I take it girls were meant for wives, and those who can get nohusbands or have lost them may be Saint Catherine's maids. "

"Yes, " answered Pani with a quaking heart; "M. Bellestre would know. "

"A thousand pities Madame should die. But I think there is wild blood inthe child. You should have kept the Indian woman and made her tell herstory. "

"She disappeared so quickly, and Madame Bellestre was so good and kind. The orphan of _Le bon Dieu_, she called her. Yes, I will see the goodfather. "

"And I will have a talk with him when Delisse goes to confession. "Madame Ganeau gave a soft, relieved sigh. "My duty is done, almost, tomy children. They will be well married, which is a great comfort to amother. And now I can devote myself to my grandchildren. Antoine has twofine boys and Jeanne a little daughter. It is a pleasant time of lifewith a woman. And Jean is prospering. We need not worry about our oldage unless these Americans overturn everything. "

Pani was a good listener and Madame Ganeau loved to talk when there wasno one to advance startling ideas or contradict her. Her life had beenprosperous and she took the credit to herself. Jean Ganeau had been agood husband, tolerably sober, too, and thrifty. 

The two older girls chatted when they were not singing. It was seldomMarie had a holiday, and this was full of delight. Would she ever have alover like Jacques Graumont, who would look at her with such adoringeyes and slyly snatch her hand when her mother was not looking?

Jeanne was full of enjoyment and capers. Every bird that flashed in andout of the trees, the swans and wild geese that squawked in terror andscuttled into little nooks along the shore edge as the boats passedthem, the fish leaping up now and then, brought forth exclamations ofdelight. She found a stick with which she beat up the water and onceleaned out so far that Louis caught her by the arm and pulled her back. 

"Let go. You hurt me!" she exclaimed sharply. 

"You will be over. "

"As if I could not care for myself. "

"You are the spirit of the river. Are your mates down there? What ifthey summon you?"

"Then why should I not go to them?" recklessly. 

"Because I will not let you. "

He looked steadily into her eyes. His were a little blurred and had anexpression that did not please her. She turned away. 

"If I should go down and get the gold hidden under the sands--"

"But a serpent guards it. "

"I am not afraid of a snake. I have killed more than one. And there aregood spirits who will help you if you have the right charm. "

"But you do not need to go. Some one will work for you. Some one willget the gold and treasure. If you will wait--"

"Well, I do not want the treasure. Pani and I have enough. "

She tossed her head, still looking away. 

"Do you know that I must go up to Micmac? I thought to stay all summer, but my father has sent. "

"And men have to obey their fathers as girls do their mothers;" in anidly indifferent tone. 

"It is best, Jeanne; I want to make a fortune. "

"I hope you will;" but there was a curl to her lip. 

"And I may come back next spring with the furs. "

She nodded indifferently. 

"My father has another secret, which may be worth a good deal. "

She made no answer but beat up the water again. There was nothing butpleasure in her mind. 

"Will you be glad to see me then? Will you miss me?"

"Why--of course. But I think I do not like you as well as I used, " shecried frankly. 

"Not like me as well?" He was amazed. "Why, Jeanne?"

"You have grown so--so--" neither her thoughts nor her vocabulary werevery extensive. "I do not think I like men until they are quite old andhave beautiful white beards and voices that are like the water when itflows softly. Or the boys who can run and climb trees with you and laughover everything. Men want so much--what shall I say?" puzzled to expressherself. 

"Concession. Agreement, " he subjoined; "that is right, " with a decisivenod. "I hate it, " with a vicious swish in the water. 

"But when your way is wrong--"

"My way is for myself, " with dignity. 

"But if you have a lover, Jeanne?"

"I shall never have one. Madame Ganeau says so. I am going to keep awild little girl with no one but Pani until--until I am a very old womanand get aches and pains and perhaps die of a fever. "

She was in a very willful mood and she was only a child. One or twoyears would make a difference. If his father made a great fortune, andafter all no one knew where she came from--he could marry in very goodfamilies, girls in plenty had smiled on him during the past two months. 

Was it watching these lovers that had stirred his blood? Why should hecare for this child?

"Had we not better turn about?" said Jacques Graumont, glancing around. 

There were purple shadows on one side of the river and high up on thedistant hills and a soft yellow pink sheen on the water instead of theblaze of gold. A clear, high atmosphere that outlined everything on theCanadian shore as if it half derided its proud neighbor's jubilee. 

Other boats were returning. Songs that were so gay an hour ago took on acertain pensiveness, akin to the purple and dun stealing over the river. It moved Jeanne Angelot strangely; it gave her a sense of exaltation, asif she could fly like a bird to some strange country where a motherloved her and was waiting for her. 

When Louis Marsac spoke next to her she could have struck him inchildish wrath. She wanted no one but the fragrant loneliness and thevoices of nature. 

"Don't talk to me!" she cried impatiently. "I want to think. I like whatis in my own mind better. "

Then the anger went slowly out of her face and it settled in lovelylines. Her mouth was a scarlet blossom, and her hair clung mistlikeabout brow and throat, softened by the warmth. 

They came grating against the dock after having waited for their turn. Marsac caught her arm and let the others go before her, and she, stillin a half dream, waited. Then he put his arm about her, turned her oneside, and pressed a long, hot kiss on her lips. His breath was stilltainted with the brandy he had been drinking earlier in the day. 

She was utterly amazed at the first moment. Then she doubled up hersmall hand and struck the mouth that had so profaned her. 

"Hah! knave, " cried a voice beside her. "Let the child alone! And answerto me. What business had you with this canoe? Child, where are yourfriends?"

"My business with it was that I hired and paid for it, " cried Marsac, angrily, and the next instant he felt for his knife. 

"Paid for it?" repeated the other. "Then come and convict a man offalsehood. Put up your knife. Let us have fair play. I had hired thecanoe in the morning and went up the river, and was to have it thisafternoon, and he declared you took it without leave or license. "

"That is a lie!" declared Marsac, passionately. 

"Jeanne! Jeanne!" cried Pani in distress. 

The stranger lifted her out. Jeanne looked back at Marsac, and then atthe young man. 

"You will not fight him?" she said to the stranger. Fights and brawlswere no uncommon events. 

"We shall have nothing to fight about if the man has lied to us both. But I wouldn't care to be in _his_ skin. Come along, my man. "

"I am not your man, " said Marsac, furiously angry. 

"Well--stranger, then. One can hardly say friend, " in a dignifiedfashion that checked Marsac. 

Pani caught the child. Pierre was on the other side of her. "What wasit?" he asked. How good his stolid, rugged face looked!

"A quarrel about the boat. Run and see how they settle it, Pierre. "

"But you and Marie--and it is getting dark. "

"Run, run! We are not afraid. " She stamped her foot and Pierre obeyed. 

Marie clung to her. People jostled them, but they made their way throughthe narrow, crowded street. The bells were ringing, more from long habitnow. Soldiers in uniform were everywhere, some as guards, caring for thenoisier ones. Madame De Ber was leaning over her half door, and gave acry of joy. 

"Where hast thou been all day, and where is Pierre, my son?" shedemanded. 

The three tried to explain at once. They had had a lovely day, andMadame Ganeau, with her daughter and promised son-in-law, were along inthe sail down the river. And Pierre had gone to see the result of adispute--

"I sent him, " cried Jeanne, frankly. "Oh, here he comes, " as Pierre ranup breathless. 

"O my son, thou art safe--"

"It was no quarrel of mine, " said Pierre, "and if it had been I have twogood fists and a foot that can kick. It was that Jogue who hired hisboat twice over and pretended to forget. But he gave back the money. Hehad told a lie, however, for he said Marsac took the canoe without hisknowledge, and then he declared he had been so mixed up--I think he washalf drunk--that he could not remember. They were going to hand him overto the guard, but he begged so piteously they let him off. Then he andLouis Marsac took another drink. "

Jeanne suddenly snatched up her skirt and scrubbed her mouth vigorously. 

"It has been a tiresome day, " exclaimed Pani, "and thou must have amouthful of supper, little one, and go to bed. "

She put her arm over the child's shoulder, with a caress; and Jeannepressed her rosy cheek on the hand. 

"I do not want any supper but I will go to bed at once, " she replied ina weary tone. 

"It is said that at the eastward in the Colonies they keep just such aJuly day with flags and confusion and cannon firing and bells ringing. One such day in a lifetime is enough for me, " declared Madame De Ber. 

They kept the Fourth of July ever afterward, but this was really theirnational birthday. 

Jeanne scrubbed her mouth again before she said her little prayer and infive minutes she was soundly asleep. But the man who had kissed her andwho had been her childhood's friend staggered homeward after aroistering evening, never losing sight of the blow she had struck him. 

"The tiger cat!" he said with what force he could summon. "She shall payfor this, if it is ten years! In three or four years I will marry herand then I will train her to know who is master. She shall get down onher knees to me if she is handsome as a princess, if she were a queen'sdaughter. "

Laurent St. Armand went home to his father a good deal amused after allhis disappointment and vexation, for he had been compelled to take aninferior canoe. 

"_Mon père_, " he said, as his father sat contentedly smoking, stretchedout in a most comfortable fashion, "I have seen your little gossip ofthe morning, and I came near being in a quarrel with a son of the traderDe Marsac, but we settled it amicably and I should have had a muchbetter opinion of him, if he had not stopped to drink Jogue's vilebrandy. He's a handsome fellow, too. "

"And is the little girl his sister?"

"O no, not in anyway related. " Then Laurent told the story, guessing atthe kiss from the blow that had followed. 

"Good, I like that, " declared St. Armand. "Whose child is it?"

"That I do not know, but she lives up near the Citadel and her name isJeanne Angelot. Shall I find her for you to-morrow?"

"She is a brave little girl. "

"I do not like Marsac. "

"His mother was an Indian, the daughter of some chief, I believe. DeMarsac is a shrewd fellow. He has great faith in the copper mines. Strange how much wealth lies hidden in the earth! But the quarrel?" witha gesture of interest. 

"Oh, it was nothing serious and came about Jogue's lying. I rated himwell for it, but he had been drinking and there was not muchsatisfaction. Well, it has been a grand day and now we shall see whonext rules the key to the Northwest. There is great agitation about theMississippi river and the gulf at the South. It is a daring country, _mon père_. "

The elder laughed with a softened approval. 

Louis Marsac did not come near St. Joseph street the next day. He slepttill noon, when he woke with a humiliating sense of having quite losthis balance, for he seldom gave way to excesses. It was late in theafternoon when he visited the old haunts and threw himself underJeanne's oak. Was she very angry? Pouf! a child's anger. What a sweetmouth she had! And she was none the worse for her spirit. But she was atempestuous little thing when you ran counter to her ideas, or whims, rather. 

Since she had neither birth nor wealth, and was a mere child, therewould be no lovers for several years, he could rest content with thatassurance. And if he wanted her then--he gave an indifferent nod. 

Down at the Merchants' wharf, the following morning, he found the boatswere to sail at once. He must make his adieus to several friends. MadameGaneau must be congratulated on so fine a son-in-law, the De Bers musthave an opportunity to wish him _bon voyage_. 

Pani sat out on the cedar plank that made the door-sill, and she wascutting deerskin fringe for next winter's leggings. "Jeanne, " shecalled, "Louis has come to say good-by. "

Jeanne Angelot came out of the far room with a curious hesitation. Panihad been much worried for fear she was ill, but Jeanne said laughinglythat she was only tired. 

"Why, you run all day like a deer and never complain, " was the troubledcomment. 

"Am I complaining, Pani?"

"No, Mam'selle. But I never knew you to want to lie on the cot in thedaytime. "

"But I often lie out under the oak with my head in your lap. "

"To be sure. "

"I'm not always running or climbing. "

"No, little one;" with smiling assent. 

The little one came forward now and leaned against Pani's shoulder. 

"When I shall come back I do not know--in a year or two. I wonder if youwill learn to talk English? We shall all have to be good Americans. Andnow you must wish me _bon voyage_. What shall I bring you when I come?Beaver or otter, or white fox--"

"Madame Reamaur hath a cape of beautiful silver fox, and when the windblows through it there are curious dazzles on every tip. "

"Surely thou hast grand ideas, Jeanne Angelot. "

"I should not wear such a thing. I am only a little girl, and that isfor great ladies. And Wenonah is making me a beautiful cape of feathersand quills, and the breast of wild ducks. She thinks Pani cured herlittle baby, and this is her offering. So I hardly want anything. But Iwish thee good luck and prosperity, and a wife who will be meek andobedient, and study your pleasure in everything. "

"Thank you a thousand times. " He held out his hand. Pani pressed itcordially, but Jeanne did not touch it. 

"The little termagant!" he said to himself. "She has not forgiven me. But girls forget. And in a year or two she will be longing for finery. Silver fox, forsooth! That would be a costly gift. Where does the childget her ideas? Not from her neighborhood nor the Indian women sheconsorts with. Nor even Madame Ganeau, " with an abrupt laugh. 

Jeanne was rather quiet all that day and did not go outside thepalisade. But afterward she was her own irrepressible self. She climbedthe highest trees, she swung from one limb to another, she rode astridesaplings, she could manage a canoe and swim like a fish, and was theadmiration of the children in her vicinity, though all of thesouthwestern end of the settlement knew her. She could whistle a bird toher and chatter with the squirrels, who looked out of beady eyes as ifamazed and delighted that a human being belonging to the race of thedestroyer understood their language. She had beaten Jacques Filion forrobbing birds' nests, and she was a whole year younger, if anyone reallyknew how old she was. 

"There will never be a brave good enough for you, " said the womanWenonah, who lived in a sort of wigwam outside the palisades and hadlearned many things from her white sisters that had rather unsettled herIndian faith in braves. She kept her house and little garden, made beadwork and embroidery for the officers and official ladles, and cared forher little papooses with unwonted mother love. For Paspah spent most ofhis time stretched in the sunshine smoking his pipe, and often sold hisgame for a drink of rum. Several times he had been induced to go upnorth with the fur hunters, and Wenonah was happy and cheerful withouthim. 

"I do not want a brave, " Jeanne would fling out laughingly. "I shall bebrave enough for myself. "

"And thou art sensible, Red Rose!" nodding sagely. "There is no fatherto bargain thee away. "

"Well, if fathers do that, then I am satisfied to be without one, "returned the child gayly. 

CHAPTER IV. 

JEANNE'S HERO. 

There were many changes to make in the new government. Under the Englishthere had been considerable emigration of better class people and morepersonal liberty. It was no longer everything for a king whose rigorouscommand was that there should be no thought of self-government, thatevery plan and edict must come from a court thousands of miles away, that knew nothing of the country. 

The French peasants scattered around the posts still adored theirpriests, but they had grown more ambitious and thrifty. Amiable, merry, and contented they endured their privations cheerfully, built bark andlog cottages, many of them surrounded by sharpened palisades. There wereIndian wigwams as well, and the two nations affiliated quite readily. The French were largely agriculturists, though many inside the Forttraded carefully, but the English claimed much of this businessafterward. 

Captain Porter was very busy restoring order. Wells had been filled withstones, windows broken, fortifications destroyed. Arthur St. Clair hadbeen appointed Governor of the Territory, which was then a part ofIllinois, but the headquarters were at Marietta. Little attention waspaid to Detroit further than to recognize it as a center of trade, whileemigrants were pouring into the promising sites a little farther below. 

M. St. Armand had much business on hand with the new government, and wasa most welcome guest in the better class families. The prettydemoiselles made much of Laurent and there were dinners and dances andcard playing and sails on the river during the magnificent moonlightnights. The young American officers were glad of a little rest from therude alarms of war that had been theirs so long, although they relaxedno vigilance. The Indians were hardly to be trusted in spite of theirprotestations, their pipes of peace, and exchange of wampum. 

The vessel was coming gayly up the river flying the new flag. There wasalways a host of idle people and children about the wharf, and now theythronged to see this General Anthony Wayne, who had not only beenvictorious in battles, but had convinced Joseph Brant, Little Turtle, and Blue Jacket that they were mistaken in their hopes of a Britishre-conquest, and had gained by honorable treaty much of the country thathad been claimed by the Indians. Each month the feeling was growingstronger that the United States was to be a positive and enduring power. 

General Wayne stepped from the boat to the pier amid cheers, waving offlags and handkerchiefs. The soldiers were formed in line to escort him. He looked tired and worn, but there was a certain spirit in his fine, courageous eyes that answered the glances showered upon him, althoughhis cordial words could only reach the immediate circle. 

Jeanne caught a glimpse of him and stood wondering. Her ideas of heroeswere vague and limited. She had seen the English dignitaries in theirscarlet and gold lace, their swords and trappings, and this man lookedplain beside them. Yet he or some power behind him had turned theBritish soldiers out of Detroit. What curious kind of strength was itthat made men heroes? Something stirred within Jeanne that had neverbeen there before, --it seemed to rise in her throat and almost strangleher, to heat her brain, and make her heart throb; her first sense ofadmiration for the finer power that was not brute strength, --and shecould not understand it. No one about her could explain mental growth. 

Then another feeling of gladness rushed over her that made every pulsebound with delight. 

"O Pani, " and she clutched the woman's coarse gown, "there is the manwho talked to me the day they put up the flag--don't you remember? Andsee--he smiles, yes, he nods to me, to me!"

She caught Pani's hand and gave it an exultant beat as if it had been adrum. It was near enough like parchment that had been beaten with many adrumstick. She was used to the child's vehemence. 

"I wish he were this great general! Pani, did you ever see a king?"

"I have seen great chiefs in grand array. I saw Pontiac--"

"Pouf!" with a gesture that made her seem taller. "Madame Ganeau'smother saw a king once--Louis somebody--and he sat in a great chariotand bowed to people, and was magnificent. That is such a grand word. And it is the way this man looks. Suppose a king came and spoke toyou--why, you would be glad all your life. "

Pani's age and her phlegmatic Indian blood precluded much enthusiasm, but she smiled down in the eager face. 

The escort was moving on. The streets were too narrow to have any greatthrong of carriages, but General Wayne stepped into one. (The hospitableDe Moirel House had been placed at his service until he could settlehimself to his liking. ) Madame Moirel and her two daughters, withLaurent St. Armand, were in the one that followed. Some of the officersand the chief citizens were on horseback. 

Then the crowd began to disperse in the slow, leisurely fashion ofpeople who have little to do. Some men took to their boats. It did notneed much to make a holiday then, and many were glad of the excuse. Athrong of idlers followed in the _chemin du ronde_. 

Pani and her charge turned in the other direction. There was the thud ofa horse, and Jeanne stepped half aside, then gave a gay, bright laugh asshe shook the curls out of her eyes. 

"So you have not forgotten me?" said the attractive voice that wouldhave almost won one against his will. 

"O no, M'sieu. I knew you in a moment. I could not forget you. "

"Thank you, _ma fille_. " The simple adoration touched him. Her eyeswere full of the subtle glow of delight. 

"You know what we spoke of that day, and now General Wayne has come. Didyou see him?"

"O yes, M'sieu. I looked sharp. "

"And were you pleased?" Something in her expression led him to think shewas not quite satisfied, yet he smiled. 

"I think you are grander, " she returned, simply. 

Then he laughed, but it was such a tender sound no one could be offendedat it. 

"Monsieur, " with a curious dignity, "did you ever see a king?"

"Yes, my child, two of them. The English king, and the poor French kingwho was put to death, and the great Napoleon, the Emperor. "

"Were they very--I know one splendid word, M'sieu, _magnifique_, but Ilike best the way the English say it, magnificent. And were they--"

"They were and are common looking men. Your Washington here is a peer tothem. My child, kings are of human clay like other men; not as good oras noble as many another one. "

"I am sorry, " she said, with quiet gravity, which betrayed herdisappointment. 

"And you do not like General Wayne?"

"O Monsieur, he has done great things for us. I hear them talk abouthim. Yes, you know I _must_ like him, that is--I do not understand aboutlikes and all that, why your heart suddenly goes out to one person andshuts up to another when neither of them may have done anything foryou. I have been thinking of so many things lately, since I saw you. AndPierre De Ber asked the good father, when he went to be catechised onFriday, if the world was really round. And Père Rameau said it was not amatter of salvation and that it made no difference whether it was roundor square. Pierre is sure it must be a big, flat plain. You know we cango out ever so far on the prairies and it is quite level. "

"You must go to school, little one. Knowledge will solve many doubts. There will be better schools and more of them. Where does your fatherlive? I should like to see him. And who is this woman?" nodding toJeanne's attendant. 

"That is Pani. She has always cared for me. I have no father, Monsieur, and we cannot be sure about my mother. I haven't minded but I think nowI would like to have some parents, if they did not beat me and make mework. "

"Pani is an Indian?"

"Yes. She was Monsieur Bellestre's servant. And one day, under a greatoak outside the palisade, some one, an Indian squaw, dropped me in herlap. Pani could not understand her language, but she said in French, 'Maman dead, dead. ' And when M. Bellestre went away, far, far to thesouth on the great river, he had the little cottage fixed for Pani andme, and there we live. "

St Armand beckoned the woman, who had been making desperate signs ofdisapprobation to Jeanne. 

"Tell me the story of this little girl, " he said authoritatively. 

"Monsieur, she is mine and M. Bellestre's. Even the priest has no rightto take her away. "

"No one will take her away, my good woman. Do not fear. " For Pani's facewas pale with terror and her whole form trembled. "Did you know nothingabout this woman who brought her to you?"

Pani told the story with some hesitation. The Indian woman talked veryfair French. To what tribe she had belonged, even the De Longueils hadnot known otherwise than that she had been sent to Detroit with somePawnee prisoners. 

"It is very curious, " he commented. "I must go to the Recollet house andsee these articles. And now tell me where I can find you--for I am dueat the banquet given for General Wayne. "

"It is in St. Joseph's street above the Citadel, " said Jeanne. "Oh, willyou come? And perhaps you will not mind if I ask you some questionsabout the things that puzzle me, " and an eager light shone in her eyes. 

"Oh, not at all. Good day, little one. I shall see you soon, " and hewaved his hand. 

Jeanne gave a regretful smile. But then he would come. Oh, how proud helooked on his handsome horse! She felt as if something had gone out ofthe day, but the sun was shining. 

At the corner of old St. Louis street they paused. Here was M. De Ber'swarehouse, --the close, unfragrant smell of left-over furs mingling withother smells and scenting the summer air. There was almost everything init, for it had great depth though not a very wide frontage: hardware ofmany kinds, firearms, rough clothing such as the boatmen and laborerswore, blankets, moccasins, and bunches of feathers, that were once ingreat demand by the Indians and were still called upon for dances, though they were hardly war dances now, only held in commemoration. 

Pierre threw down the bundle he was shifting to the back of the place. 

"Have you seen Marie this morning, Jeanne?"

There was a slow, indifferent shake of the head. The child's thoughtswere elsewhere. 

"Then you do not know?" The words came quick and tumbled out of histhroat, as it were. He was so glad to tell Jeanne his bit of news first, just as he had been glad to find the first flowers of spring for her, tobring her the first fruits of the orchard and the first ripe grapes. Howmany times he had scoured the woods for them!

"What has happened?" The boy's eyes were shining and his face red to itsutmost capacity, and Jeanne knew it was no harm. 

"Madame Ganeau came to tea last night. Delisse is to be married nextmonth. They are to get the house ready for her to go into. It is justout of St. Anne's street, not far from the Recollet house. It will beDelisse's birthday. And Marie is to be one of the maids. "

"Oh, that will be fine, " cried Jeanne eagerly. "I hope I can go. "

"Of course you will. I'll be sure of that, " with an assumption ofmannishness. "And a great boat load of finery comes in to Dupree's fromQuebec. M. Ganeau has ordered many things. Oh, I wish I was old enoughto be some one's lover!"

"I must go and see Marie. And oh, Pierre, I have seen the great generalwho fought the Indians and the British so bravely. "

Pierre nodded. It made little difference to the lad who fought and whowon so that they were kept safe inside of the stockade, and business wasgood, for then his father was better natured. On bad days Pierre oftenhad a liberal dose of strap. 

"Come, Pani, let us go to Madame De Ber's. "

Marie was out on the doorstep tending the baby, who was teething andfretful. Madame was cooking some jam of sour plums and maple sugar thatwas a good appetizer in the winter. There was always a baby at the DeBers'. 

"And Delisse is to be married! Pierre told me. "

"Yes; I wanted to run up this morning, but Aurel has been so cross. AndI am to be one of the maids. At first mother said that I had no frock, but Madame Ganeau said get her a new one and it will do for next summer. I have outgrown most of my clothes, so they will have to go to Rose. Allthe maids are to have pink sashes and shoulder knots and streamers. Itwill take a sight of ribbon. But it will be something for my courtingtime, and the May dance and Pentecost. O dear, if I had a lover!"

"Thou foolish child!" declared her mother. "Girls are never satisfied tobe girls. And the houseful of children that come afterward!"

Marie thought of all the children she had nursed, not her own. Yet shekissed little Aurel with a fond heart. 

"And Delisse--" suggested Jeanne. 

"Oh, Delisse is to wear the wedding gown her sisters had. It is long andhas a beautiful train, some soft, shiny stuff over white silk, and lacethat was on her _grand'mere's_ gown in France, and satin slippers. Theyare a little tight, Delisse declares, and she will not dance in them, but they have beautiful buckles and great high heels. I should be afraidof tipping over. And then the housekeeping. All the maids go to drinktea the first Sunday, and turn their cups to see who gets the nextlover. "

Jeanne gave a shrug of disdain. 

Marie bent over and whispered that she was sorry Louis Marsac had gone. He was so nice and amusing. 

"Is he going to wait for you, Jeanne? You know you can marry whom youlike, you have no father. And Louis will be rich. "

"He will wait a long while then and tire of it. I do not like him anymore. " Her lips felt hot suddenly. 

"Marie, do not talk such nonsense to Jeanne. She is only a child likeRose, here. You girls get crack-brained about lovers. "

"Come, " said Pani. "Let us get a pail and go after wild plums. Thesesmell so good. "

"And, Pani, look if the grapes are not fit to preserve, " said Madame DeBer. "I like the tart green taste, as well as the spice of the laterripeness. "

Jeanne assented. She was so glad Louis Marsac had gone. Why, when shehad liked him so very much and been proud to order him about, and makehim lift her over the creeks, should she experience such a greatrevulsion of feeling? Two long years! and when he returned--

"I can take Pani and run away, for I shall be a big girl then, " and shelaughed over the plan. 

What a day it was! The woods were full of fragrant odors, though hereand there great patches had been cut and burned so as to afford noharbor to the Indians. Fruits grew wild, nuts abounded, and oh, theflowers! Jeanne liked these days in the woods, but what was there thatshe did not like? The river was an equal pleasure. Pani filled her pailwith plums, Jeanne her arms with flowers. 

The new house of Delisse Ganeau became a great source of interest. Ithad three rooms, which was considered quite grand for a young couple. Jacques Graumont had a bedstead, a table, and a dresser that had beenhis mother's, a pair of brass candlesticks and some dishes. Her motherlooked over her own stores, but the thriftier kind of French people putaway now and then some plenishing for their children. She was closelywatched lest Delisse should fare better than the other girls. Sistershad sharp eyes. 

There was her confession to be made, and her instruction as to theduties of a wife, just as if she had not seen her mother's wifely lifeall her days!

"I like the Indian way best, " cried Jeanne in a spirit of halfcontrariness. "Your husband takes you to his wigwam and you cook hismeal, and it is all done with, and no fuss. Half Detroit is runningwild. "

"Oh, no, " replied Pani, amused at the child's waywardness. "I dare saythe soldiers know nothing about it. And your great general and theladies who give dinners. After all it is just a few people. And, littleone, the Church wants these things all right. Then the husbands cannotrun away and leave the poor wives to sit and cry. "

"I wouldn't cry, " said the child with determination in her voice, and acolor flaming up in her face. 

Yet she had come very near crying over a man who was nothing to her. Shewas feeling hurt and neglected. One day out in her dainty canoe she hadseen a pleasure party on the river and her hero was among them. Therewere ladies in beautiful garments and flying ribbons and laces. Oh, shecould have told him among a thousand! And he sat there so grandly, smiling and talking. She went home with a throbbing heart and would eatno supper; crawled into her little bed and thrust her face down in thefragrant pillow, but her fist was doubled up as if she could strike someone. She would not let the tears steal through her lids but keptswallowing over a big lump in her throat. 

"Mam'selle, " said the tailor's wife, who was their next door neighbor, "yesterday, no, it was the day before when you and Pani were out--youknow you are out so much, " and she sighed to think how busily she had toply her needle to suit her severe taskmaster--"there came a gentlemandown from the Fort who was dreadfully disappointed not to find you. Hewas grand looking, with a fine white beard, and his horse was alltrapped off with shining brass. I can't recall his name but it had aSaint to it. "

"St. Armand?" with a rapid breath. 

"Yes, that was it. Mademoiselle, I did not know you had any such finefriends. "

Jeanne did not mind the carping tone. 

"Thank you. I must go and tell Pani, " and she skipped away, knowing thatPani was not in the house, but she wanted to give vent to her joy. 

She danced about the old room and her words had a delight that was likemusic. "He has not forgotten me! he has not forgotten me!" was her gladsong. The disappointment that she had missed him came afterward. 

For although Detroit was not very large at this time, one might havewandered about a good deal and not seen the one person it would havebeen a pleasure to meet. And Jeanne was much more at home outside thepalisade. The business jostling and the soldiers gave her a slight senseof fear and the crowding was not to her taste. She liked the broad, freesweep outside. And whether she had inherited a peculiar pride anddelicacy from the parents no one knew; certain it was she would putherself in no one's way. Others came to her, she felt then every onemust. 

She could not have understood the many claims upon Monsieur St. Armand. There were days when he had to study his tablets to remember even adinner engagement. He was called into council by General Wayne, he hadto go over to the Canada side with some delicate negotiations about theupper part of the Territory, he was deeply interested in the opening andworking of the copper mines, and in the American Fur Company, so it washardly to be wondered at that he should forget about the little girlwhen there were so many important things. 

The wedding was not half so tiresome then. And oh, what glorious weatherit was, just enough sharpness at night to bring out all the fragrantdewy smells! The far-off forests glowed like gardens of wonderful bloomwhen the sun touched them with his marvelous brilliancy. And the riverwould have been a study for an artist or a fairy pen. 

So one morning the bell of old St. Anne's rung out a cheerful peal. Ithad been rebuilt and enlarged once, but it had a quaintly venerableaspect. And up the aisle the troop of white clad maidens walkedreverently and knelt before the high altar where the candles wereburning and there was an odor of incense beside the spice of evergreens. 

The priest made a very sacred ceremony of the marriage. Jeanne listenedin half affright. All their lives long, in sickness and health, inmisfortune, they must never cease to love, never allow any waveringfancies, but go on to old age, to death itself. 

Delisse looked very happy when her veil was thrown back. And then theyhad a gala time. Friends came to see the new house and drink the bride'shealth and wish the husband good luck. And the five bridesmaids andtheir five attendants came to tea. There was much anxiety when the cupswere turned, and blushes and giggles and exclamations, as an old Indianwoman, who had a great reputation for foretelling, and would surely havebeen hung in the Salem witchcraft, looked them over with an air ofmystery, and found the figure of a man with an outstretched hand, in thebottom of Marie De Ber's cup. 

"And she's the youngest. That isn't fair!" cried several of the girls, while Madelon Dace smiled serenely, for she knew when the next trapperscame in her lover would be among them, and a speedy wedding follow. Marie had never walked from church with a young man. 

Then the dance in the evening! That was out of doors under the stars, inthe court at the back of the house. The Loisel brothers came with theirfiddles, and there was great merriment in a simple, delightful fashion, and several of the maids had honeyed words said to them that meant agood deal, and held out promises of the future. For though they tooktheir religion seriously in the services of the Church, they were gayand light hearted, pleasure loving when the time of leisure came, or atfestivals and marriages. 

CHAPTER V. 

AN UNKNOWN QUANTITY. 

"There was a pretty wedding to-day in St. Anne's, " said Madelon Fleury, glancing up at Laurent St. Armand, with soft, dark eyes. "I looked foryou. I should have asked you formally, " laughing and showing her pearlyteeth, "but we had hardly thought of going. It was a sudden thing. Andthe bridesmaids were quite a sight. "

"There is an old English proverb, " began Madame Fleury--

 "'Who changes her name and not the letter, Marries for worse and not the better. '

and both names begin alike. "

"But they are French, " appended Lisa, brightly. "The prediction may haveno effect. "

"It is to be hoped it will not, " commented Monsieur Fleury. "JacquesGraumont is a nice, industrious young fellow, and not given to drink. Now there will be business enough, and he is handy and expert at boatbuilding, while the Ganeaus are thrifty people. M. Ganeau does a goodbusiness in provisioning the traders when they go north. Did you wishthe young couple success, Madelon?"

The girl flushed. "I do not know her. We have met the motheroccasionally. To tell the truth, I do not enjoy this mixing up oftraders and workmen and--" she hesitated. 

"And quality, " appended Lisa, with a mischievous glance at her sister. 

"We are likely to have more of it than less, " said her father, gravely. "These Americans have some curious ideas. While they are proud enough totrace their ancestry back to French or English or even Italian rank, they taboo titles except such as are won by merit. And it must beconfessed they have had many brave men among them, heroes animated bybroader views than the first conquerors of the country. "

"Yes, " exclaimed St. Armand, "France made a great mistake and has losther splendid heritage. She insisted on continuing the old world policyof granting court favorites whatever they asked, without studying theconditions of the new world. Then England pinned her faith and plans toa military colonization that should emanate from a distant throne. It istrue she gave a larger liberty, a religious liberty, and exploited thetheory of homes instead of mere trading posts. The American has improvedon all this. It is as if he said, 'I will conquer the new world by forceof industry; there shall be equal rights to homes, to labor, to'--thereis a curious and delightful sounding sentence in their Declaration, which is a sort of corner stone--'life, liberty, and pursuit ofhappiness. ' One man's idea of happiness is quite different fromanother's, however;" smiling. 

"And there will be clashing. There is much to do, and time alone cantell whether they will work out the problem. "

"They seem to blend different peoples. There is the Puritan in the East, who is allowing his prejudices to soften; there are the Dutch, about thetowns on the Hudson, the Friends in Pennsylvania, the proud oldcavaliers in Virginia and Carolina. "

"And the Indians, who will ever hate them! The French settlements at theWest, up and down the mighty river, who will never forget La Salle, Tonti, Cadillac, and the De Bienvilles. There's a big work yet to do. "

"I think they will do it, " returned St. Armand, his eyes kindling. "Withsuch men as your brave, conciliatory General Wayne, a path is opened fora more reasonable agreement. "

"You cannot trust the Indians. I think the French have understood thembetter, and made them more friendly. In many respects they are children, in others almost giants where they consider themselves wronged. And itis a nice question, how much rights they have in the soil. "

"It has been a question since the world began. Were not the children ofIsrael commanded to drive the Canaanites out of their own land? Did notthe Romans carry conquests all over Europe? And the Spaniard here, whohas been driven out for his cruelty and rapacity. The world question isa great tree at which many nations have a hack, and some of them getonly the unripe fruit as the branches fall. But the fruit maturesslowly, and some one will gather it in the end, that is certain. "

"But has not the Indian a right to his happiness, to his liberty?" saidLaurent, rather mischievously. He had been chaffing with the girls, yetlistening to the talk of the elders. 

"In Indian ethics might makes right as elsewhere. They murder anddestroy each other; some tribes have been almost wiped out and sold forslaves, as these Pawnee people. Depend upon it they will never takekindly to civilization. A few have intermarried, and though there ismuch romance about Rolfe and his Indian princess, St. Castin and his, they are more apt to affiliate with the Indians in the next generation. "

"My young man who was so ready to fight was a half-breed, I heard, " saidLaurent. "His French father is quite an important fur trader, I learned. Yet the young fellow has been lounging round for the past three months, lying in the sun outside the stockade, flirting and making love alike toIndian and French maids, and haunting Jogue's place down on the river. Though, for that matter, it seems to be headquarters for fur traders. Ahandsome fellow, too. Why has he not the pride of the French?"

"Such marriages are a disgrace to the nation, " said Madame Fleury, severely. 

"And that recalls to my mind, --" St. Armand paused with a retrospectivesmile, thinking of the compliment his little friend had paid him, --"toinquire if you know anything about a child who lives not far from thelower citadel, in the care of an Indian woman. Her name is JeanneAngelot. "

The girls glanced at each other with a little curl of the lip as St. Armand's eyes wandered around. 

"My father met her at the flag-raising and was charmed with her eyes andher ignorance, " said Laurent, rather flippantly. 

"If I were going to become a citizen of Detroit I should interest myselfin this subject of education. It is sinful to allow so many young peopleto grow up in ignorance, " declared the elder St. Armand. 

"Most of our girls of the better class are sent to Montreal or Quebec, "exclaimed Madame Fleury. "The English have governesses. And there is theRecollet school; there may be places outside the stockade. "

Monsieur Fleury shook his head uncertainly. "Angelot, Angelot, " herepeated. "I do not know the name. "

"Father Gilbert or Father Rameau might know. Are these AngelotsCatholics?"

"There is only one little girl. "

"Oh!" a light broke over Madame's face. "I think I can recall an event. Husband, you know the little child the Bellestres had?"

"I do not remember, " shaking his head. 

"It was found queerly. They had a slave who became its nurse. TheBellestres were Huguenots, but Madame had a leaning toward the Churchand the child was baptized. Madame Bellestre, who was a lovely woman, deferred to her husband until she was dying, when Father Rameau was sentfor and she acknowledged that she died in the holy faith. There wassome talk about the child, but M. Bellestre claimed it and cares for it. Under the English reign, you know, the good fathers had not so muchauthority. "

"Where can I find this Father Rameau?"

"At the house beside the church. It is headquarters for the priests whocome and go. A delightful old man is the father, though I could wish attimes he would exercise a little more authority and make a stand for ourrights. I sometimes fear we shall be quite pushed to the wall. "

St. Armand had come of a long line of Huguenots more than one of whomhad suffered for his faith. He was a liberal now, studying up religionfrom many points, but he was too gallant to discuss it with a lady andhis hostess. 

The young people were getting restive. It was just the night fordelightful canoeing on the river and it had been broached in theafternoon. Marie the maid, quite a superior woman, was often intrustedwith this kind of companionship. Before they were ready to start a youngneighbor came in who joined them. 

Monsieur Fleury invited his guest to an end porch shaded by a profusionof vines, notable among them the sweetbrier, that gave out a fragrantincense on the night air. Even here they could catch sounds of the musicfrom the river parties, for the violin and a young French habitan werealmost inseparable. 

"Nay, " he replied, "though a quiet smoke tempts the self-indulgent sideof my nature. But I want to see the priest. I am curiously interestedin this child. "

"There were some whispers about her, Monsieur, that one does not mentionbefore young people. One was that she had Indian blood in her veins, and--" here Madame Fleury lowered her voice almost to a whisper, --"andthat Madame Bellestre, who was very much of the _haute noblesse_, shouldbe so ready to take in a strange child, and that M. Bellestre shouldkeep his sort of guardianship over her and provide for her. Some of thetalk comes back to me. There have been many questionable things done weolder people know. "

St. Armand gave an assenting nod. Then he asked himself what there wasabout the child that should interest one so much, recalling her prettyeager compliment that he resembled a king, or her vague idea of one. 

His dinner dress set him off to a fine advantage. It was much in the oldFrench fashion--the long waistcoat of flowered satin and velvet with itsjeweled buttons; the ruffled shirt front, the high stock, the lace cuffsabout the hand, the silken small clothes and stockings. And when he wasdressed in furs with fringed deerskin leggings and a beaver cap abovethe waving brown hair, with his snowy beard and pink cheeks, and hisblue eyes, he was a goodly picture as well. 

The priest's house was easily found. The streets were full of people inthe early evening, for in this pleasant weather it was much morerefreshing out of door than in. The smells of furs and skins lingeredin the atmosphere, and a few days of good strong wind was a godsend. Thedoorways were full, women caressing their babies and chanting lowlullabies; while elsewhere a pretty young girl hung over the lower halfof the door and laughed with an admirer while her mother sat drowsingjust within. 

A tidy old woman, in coif and white apron over her black gown, bowed herhead as she answered his question. The good father was in. Would thestranger walk this way?

Père Rameau was crossing the hall. In the dim light, a stone basinholding oil after the fashion of a Greek lamp, the wick floating on top, the priest glanced up at his visitor. Both had passed each other in thestreet and hardly needed an introduction. 

"I hope I have not disturbed you in any way, " began M. St. Armand in anattractive tone that gained a listener at once. "I have come to talkover a matter that has a curious interest for me, and I am told you havethe key, if not to the mystery exactly, to some of the links. I hope youwill not consider me intrusive. "

"I shall be glad to give you any information that is possible. I am nota politician, Monsieur, and have been trained not to speak evil of thoseappointed to rule over us. "

He was a tall, spare man with a face that even in the wrinkles andthinness of age, and perhaps a little asceticism, was sweet and calm, and the brown eyes were soft, entreating. Clean shaven, the chin showednarrow, but the mouth redeemed it. He wore the black cassock of theRecollets, the waist girded by a cord from which was suspended a crossand a book of devotions. 

"Then if it is a serious talk, come hither. There may be a little smokein the air--"

"I am a smoker myself, " said St. Armand cordially. 

"Then you may not object to a pipe. I have some most excellent tobacco. I bethink me sometimes that it is not a habit of self-sacrifice, but thefragrance is delightful and it soothes the nerves. "

The room was rather long, and somewhat narrow. At the far end there wasa small altar and a _prie dieu_. A candle was burning and its lightdefined the ivory crucifix above. In the corner a curtained somethingthat might be a confessional. Indeed, not a few startling confessionshad been breathed there. An escritoire with some shelves above, curiously carved, that bespoke its journey across the sea, took a greatwall space and seemed almost to divide the room. The window in the frontend was quite wide, and the shutters were thrown open for air, though acoarse curtain fell in straight folds from the top. Here was acommodious desk accommodating papers and books, a small table with pipesand tobacco, two wooden chairs and a more comfortable one which thepriest proffered to the guest. 

"Shall we have a light? Marcel, bring a candle. "

"Nay, " protested the visitor, "I enjoy this dimness. One seems moreinclined to talk, though I think I have heard a most excellent reasoneduced for such a course;" and a mirthful twinkle shone in his eyes. 

The priest laughed softly. "It is hardly applicable here. I satthinking. The sun has been so brilliant for days that the night bringscomfort. You are a stranger here, Monsieur?"

"Yes, though it is not my first visit to Detroit. I have gone from NewYork to Michilimackinac several times, to Montreal, Quebec, to Franceand back, though I was born there. I am the guest of Monsieur Fleury. "

The priest made an approving inclination of the head. 

"One sees many strange things. You have a conglomerate, Père Rameau. Andnow a new--shall I say ruler?"

"That is the word, Monsieur. And I hope it may last as long as theEnglish reign. We cannot pray for the success of La Belle France anymore. "

"France has her own hard battles to fight. Yet it makes one a little sadto think of the splendid heritage that has slipped from her hands, forwhich her own discoverers and priests gave up their lives. Still, shehas been proved unworthy of her great trust. I, as a Frenchman, say itwith sorrow. "

"You are a churchman, Monsieur?"

"A Christian, I hope. For several generations we have been on the otherside. But I am not unmindful of good works or good lives. "

Père Rameau bowed his head. 

"What I wished to talk about was a little girl, " St. Armand began, after a pause. "Jeanne Angelot, I have heard her called. "

"Ah, Monsieur, you know something about her, then?" returned the priest, eagerly. 

"No, I wish I did. I have crossed her path a time or two, though I can'ttell just why she interests me. She is bright, vivacious, but curiouslyignorant. Why does she live with this Indian woman and run wild?"

"I cannot tell any further than it seems M. Bellestre's strange whim. All I know of the child is Pani's story. The De Longueils went to Franceand the Bellestres took their house. Pani had been given her freedom, but remained with the new owners. She was a very useful woman, butsubject to curious spells of longing for her olden friends. Sometimesshe would disappear for days, spending the time among the Indian squawsoutside the stockade. She was there one evening when this child wasdropped in her lap by a young Indian woman. Touchas, the woman she wasstaying with, corroborates the story. The child was two years or moreold, and talked French; cried at first for her 'maman. ' Madame Bellestreinsisted that Pani should bring the child to her. She had lost a littleone by death about the same age. She supposed at first that some onewould claim it, but no one ever did. Then she brought the child to meand had it christened by the name on the card, Jeanne Angelot. Madamehad a longing for the ministrations of the Church, but her husband wasopposed. In her last illness he consented. He loved her very dearly. Ithink he was afraid of the influence of a priest, but he need not havebeen. She gave me all the things belonging to the child, and I promisedto yield them up to the one who claimed her, or Jeanne herself when shewas eighteen, or on her wedding day when she was married. Her husbandpromised to provide for the child as long as she needed it. He was veryfond of her, too. "

"And was there no suspicion?" St. Armand hesitated. 

The pale face betrayed a little warmth and the slim fingers clasped eachother. 

"I understand, Monsieur. There was and I told him of it. With his handon God's word he declared that he knew no more about her than Pani'sstory, and that he had loved his wife too well for his thoughts ever tostray elsewhere. He was an honest, upright man and I believe him. Heplanned at first to take the child to New Orleans, but Mademoiselle, whowas about fourteen, objected strenuously. She _was_ jealous of herfather's love for the child. M. Bellestre was a large, fair man withauburn hair and hazel eyes, generous, kindly, good-tempered. The childis dark, and has a passionate nature, beats her playmates if they offendher, though it is generally through some cruel thing they have done. Shehas noble qualities but there never has been any training. Yet every onehas a good word for her and a warm side. I do not think the child wouldtell a lie or take what did not belong to her. She would give all shehad sooner. "

"You interest me greatly. But would it not be wiser for her to have abetter home and different training? Does M. Bellestre consent to haveher grow up in ignorance?"

"I have proposed she and Pani should come to the Recollet house. We haveclasses, you know, and there are orphan children. Several times we havecoaxed her in, but it was disastrous. She set our classes in an uproar. The sister put her in a room by herself and she jumped out of the windowand threatened to run away to the woods if she were sent again. M. Bellestre thinks to come to Detroit sometime, when it will be settled nodoubt. His daughter is married now. He may take Jeanne back with him. "

"That would be a blessing. But she has an eager mind and now we arelearning that a broader education is necessary. It seems a pity--"

"Monsieur, there are only two lines that seem important for a woman. Oneis the training to make her a good wife and mother, and in new countriesthis is much needed. It is simplicity and not worldly arrogance, obedience and not caviling; first as a daughter, then as a wife. Toguide the house, prepare the meals, teach her children the holy truthsof the Church, and this is all God will require of her. The other is todevote her whole life to God's work, but not every one has this gift. And she who bears children obeys God's mandate and will have herreward. "

"Whether the world is round or square, " thought the Sieur St. Armand, but he was too courteous even to smile. Jeanne Angelot would need awider life than this, and, if unduly narrowed, would spring over thetraces. 

"You think M. Bellestre means to come?"

"He has put it off to next year now. There is so much unrest anduncertainty all over the country, that at present he cannot leave hisbusiness. "

St. Armand sighed softly, thinking of Jeanne. 

"Would you show the clothes and the trinkets?"

"O yes, Monsieur, to a person like you, but not to the idly curious. Indeed, for that matter, they have been mostly forgotten. So many thingshave happened to distract attention. "

He rose and went to the old escritoire. Unlocking a drawer he took out aparcel folded in a piece of cloth. 

"The clothes she wore, " he said, "even to the little shoes of deerskin. There is nothing special about them to denote that she was the child ofa rich person. "

That was very true, St. Armand saw, except that the little stockingswere fine and bore the mark of imported goods. He mused over them. 

The priest opened a small, oblong box that still had the scent of snuffabout it. On it was the name of Bellestre. So that was no clew. 

"Here is the necklet and the little ring and the paper with her name. Madame Bellestre placed these in my hand some time before she died. "

The chain was slender and of gold, the locket small; inside two paintedminiatures but very diminutive, and both of them young. One would hardlybe able to identify a middle aged person from them. There was no mark orinitials, save an undecipherable monogram. 

"It is a pity there are no more chances of identification, " St. Armandsaid. "This and the stockings come from France. And if the poor motherwas dead--"

"There are so many orphans, Monsieur. Kind people take them in. I knowof some who have been restored to their families. It is my dream togather them in one home and train them to useful lives. It may come ifwe have peace for a while. "

"She has a trusty guardian in you. "

"If I could decide her fate, Monsieur. Truly she is a child of theChurch, but she is wild and would revolt at any abridgment of herliberty. We may win her by other means. Pani is a Christian woman thoughwith many traits of Indian character, some of the best of them, "smiling. "It cannot be that the good Father above will allow any of hisexamples to be of none effect. Pani watches over her closely and lovesher with untiring devotion. She firmly upholds M. Bellestre's right andbelieves he will return. The money to support them is sent to M. Loisel, the notary, and he is not a churchman. It is a pity so many of out braveold fathers should die for the faith and the children not be gathered inone fold. In Father Bonaventure's time it was not so, but the Englishhad not come. "

The good priest sighed and began folding up the articles. 

"Father Gilbert believes in a stricter rule. But most of the people haveyears of habit that they put in the place of faith. Yet they are a good, kindly people, and they need some pleasures to compensate for their hardlives. They are gay and light-hearted as you have no doubt seen, butmany of them are tinctured with Indian superstitions as well. Then for amonth, when the fur traders come in, there is much drinking anddisorder. There have been many deep-rooted prejudices. My nation cannotforgive the English for numberless wrongs. We could always have beenfriends with the Indians when they understood that we meant to dealfairly by them. And we were to blame for supplying them with fire water, justly so called. The fathers saw this and fought against it a centuryago. Even the Sieur Cadillac tried to restrict them, though he did notapprove the Jesuits. Monsieur, as you may have seen, the Frenchmandrinks a little with the social tendency of his race, the Indian for thesake of wild expansion. He is a grand hero to himself, then, ready for awar dance, for fighting, cruelty, rapine, and revenge. I hope the newnation will understand better how to deal with them. They are the truechildren of the forest and the wilderness. I suppose in time they wouldeven destroy each other. "

St. Armand admitted to himself that it was hard to push them farther tothe cold, inhospitable north, which would soon be the only huntingground left them unless the unknown West opened a future resource. 

"They are a strange race. Yet there have been many fierce peoples on ourearth that have proved themselves amenable to civilization. "

"Let us hope for better times and a more lasting peace. Prejudices dieout in a few generations. " Then he rose. "I thank you sincerely for yourkindness, father, and hope you will be prospered in your good work, andin the oversight of the child. "

"You are not to remain--"

St. Armand smiled. "I have much business on my hands. There are manytreaty points to define and settle. I go to Washington; I may go toFrance. But I wish you all prosperity under the new government. "

The priest bowed. 

"And you will do your best for the child?"

"Whatever I am allowed to do, Monsieur. "

There was still much soreness about religious matters. The Englishlaxity had led to too much liberty, to doubting, even. 

They bade each other a cordial adieu, with hopes of meeting again. 

"Strange there should be so many interested in the child, " St. Armandmused. "And she goes her own way serenely. "

CHAPTER VI. 

IN WHICH JEANNE BOWS HER HEAD. 

General Anthony Wayne was a busy man for the next few weeks, though hewas full of tireless activity to his finger tips. There was much to bedone in the town that was old already and had seen three differentrégimes. English people were packing their worldly goods and startingfor Canada. Some of the French were going to the farther westernsettlements. Barracks were overhauled, the palisades strengthened, theFort put in a better state of defense. For there were threats that theEnglish might return. There were roving bands of Indians to the northand west, ready to be roused to an attack by disaffected French orEnglish. 

But the industrious inhabitants plied their vocations unmindful ofchange of rulers. Boat loads of emigrants came in. Stores of all kindswere dumped upon the wharf. The red painted windmills flew like greatbirds in the air, though some of the habitans kept to their little homehand mill, whose two revolving stones needed a great expenditure ofstrength and ground but coarsely. You saw women spinning in doorwaysthat they might nod to passers-by or chat with a neighbor who had timeto spare. 

The children played about largely on the outside of the palisade. Therewere waving fields of maize that farmers had watched with fear andtrembling and now surveyed with pride. Other grains were beingcultivated. Estates were staked out, new log houses were erected, somemuch more pretentious ones with great stone chimneys. 

Yet people found time for pleasure. There were canoe loads of merrygirls going down or up the river, adroitly keeping out of the way of thelarger craft and sending laughing replies to the chaff of the boatmen. And the evenings were mostly devoted to pleasure, with much music andsinging. For it was not all work then. 

Jeanne roamed at her own wayward will, oftenest within the inclosurewith Pani by the hand. The repairs going on interested her. The newsoldiers in their Continental blue and buff, most of it soiled and worn, presented quite a contrast to the red and gold of the English to whichtheir eyes had become so accustomed. Now and then some one spokerespectfully to her; there was much outward deference paid to women evenif the men were some of them tyrants within. 

And Jeanne asked questions in her own fearless fashion. She had pickedup some English and by dint of both languages could make herselfunderstood. 

"Well?" exclaimed a young lieutenant who had been overseeing some workand cleaning up at the barracks, turning a smiling and amused facetowards her, "well, Mademoiselle, how do you like us--your newmasters?"

"Are you going to be masters here for long? Are you sure the Englishwill not come back?"

She raised her head proudly and her eyes flashed. 

"It looks as if we might stay, " he answered. 

"You will not be everybody's master. You will not be mine. "

"Why, no. What I meant was the government. Individuals you know havealways a certain liberty. "

She wondered a little what individuals were. Ah, if one could know agood deal! Something was stirring within her and it gave her a sort ofpain, perplexing her as well. 

What a bright curious face it was with the big eyes that looked out sostraightforwardly!

"You are French, Mam'selle, or--"

"Am I like an Indian?"

She stood up straight and seemed two or three inches taller. He turned asudden scarlet as he studied the mop of black curling hair, the longlashes, through which her eyes glittered, the brown skin that was sunkissed rather than of a copper tint, the shapely figure, and small handsthat looked as if they might grasp and hold on. 

"No, Mam'selle, I think you are not. " Then he looked at Pani. "You livehere?"

"Oh, not far away. Pani is my--oh, I do not know what you callit--guard, nurse, but I am a big girl now and do not need a nurse. Monsieur, I think I am French. But I dropped from the clouds one eveningand I can't remember the land before that. "

The soldier stared, but not impertinently. 

"Mam'selle, I hope you will like us, since we have come to stay. "

"Ah, do not feel too sure. The French drove out the Indians, the Englishconquered the French, and they went away--many of them. And you havedriven out the English. Where will the next people come from?"

"The next people?" in surprise. 

"The people to drive you out. " She laughed softly. 

"We will not be driven out. "

"Are you as strong as that?"

"Mam'selle, we have conquered the English from Maine to the Carolinas, and to the Mississippi river. We shall do all the rest sometime. "

"I think I shall be an American. I like people who are strong and cannever be beaten. "

"Of course you will have to be an American. And you must learn to speakEnglish well. "

"Monsieur, " with much dignity, "if you are so grand why do you not havea language of your own?"

"Because"--he was about to say--"we were English in the beginning, " butthe sharp, satirical curves lurking around her mouth checked him. Whatan odd, piquant creature she was!

"Come away, " and Pani pulled her hand. "You talk too much to people andmake M'sieu idle. "

"O Pani!" She gave an exultant cry and sprang away, then stopped short. For it was not only her friend, but a number of gentlemen in militaryattire and mounted on horses with gay trappings. 

Monsieur St. Armand waved his hand to her. She shrank back and caughtPani's gown. 

"It is General Wayne, " said the lieutenant, and paid him something morethan the demands of superior rank, for admiration was in his eyes andJeanne noticed it. 

"My little friend, " said St. Armand, leaning down toward Jeanne, "I amglad to see you again. " He turned a trifle. The general and his aidswere on a tour of inspection, and now the brave soldier leaped from thesaddle, giving the child a glance. 

"I have been coming to find you, " began Monsieur. "I have many things tosay to your attendant. Especially as in a few days I go away. "

"O Monsieur, is it because you do not like--" her eyes followed thegeneral's suite. 

"It is because I like them so well. I go to their capital on somebusiness, and then to France. But I shall return in a year, perhaps. Ayear is not very long. "

"Just a winter and a summer. There are many of them to life?"

"To some lives, yes. I hope there will be to yours, happy ones. "

"I am always happy when I can run about or sail on the river. There areso many delightful things when no one bothers you. "

"And the bothers are, I suppose, when some one considers your way notthe best for you. We all meet with such things in life. "

"My own way is the best, " she replied, willfully, a daring lightshining in her eyes. "Do I not know what gives me the most pleasure? IfI want to go out and sing with the birds or run mad races with the dogs, or play with the children outside, that is the thing which gives me joyand makes my blood rush warm and bright in my veins. Monsieur, I toldyou I did not like to be shut up. "

"Well, well. Remain in your little cottage this afternoon, and let mecome and talk to you. I think I will not make you unhappy. "

"Your voice is so sweet, Monsieur, but if you say disagreeable things, if you want me to learn to sew and to read--and to spin--the De Bershave just had a spinning wheel come. It is a queer thing and humsstrangely. And Marie will learn to spin, her mother says. Then she willnever be able to go in the woods for wild grapes and nuts. No, I cannotspend my time being so busy. And I do not care for stockings. Leggingsare best for winter. And Touchas makes me moccasins. "

Her feet and ankles were bare now. Dainty and shapely they were, andwould have done for models. 

"Monsieur, the soft grass and the warm sand is so pleasant to one'sfeet. I am glad I am not a grand lady to wear clumsy shoes. Why, I couldnot run. "

St. Armand laughed. He had never seen such a free, wild, human thingrejoicing exultantly in its liberty. It seemed almost a shame to captureher--like caging a bird. But she could not always be a child. 

General Wayne had made his round and given some orders, and now hereappeared. 

"I want to present you to this little girl of Detroit, " began M. St. Armand, "so that in years to come, when she hears of all your exploits, she will be proud that she had the honor. Jeanne Angelot is the smallmaid's name. And this is our brave General Wayne, who has persuaded theIndians to peace and amity, and taught the English to keep their word. But he can fight as well as talk. "

"Monsieur, when they gave you welcome, I did not think you looked grandenough for a great general. But when I come near by I see you are braveand strong and determined. I honor you, Monsieur. I am glad you are torule Detroit. "

"Thank you, my little maid. I hope Detroit will become a great city, andthat you may live many years in it, and be very happy. "

She made a courtesy with free, exquisite grace. General Wayne leapedinto his saddle and waved his hand. 

"What an odd and charming child, " he remarked to St. Armand. "No womanof society could have been more graceful and less abashed, and few wouldown up change of opinion with such naïve sweetness. Of course she is achild of the people?"

"I am interested in learning who she really is;" and St. Armand repeatedwhat he knew of her story. 

"Her mother may have been killed by the Indians. There will be many asad romance linked in with our early history, Sieur St. Armand. "

As for Jeanne Angelot, many a time in after years she recalled hermeeting with the brave general, and no one dreamed then that hisbrilliant career was to end so soon. Until November he held the post, repairing fortifications, promulgating new laws, redressing abuses, soothing the disaffected and, as far as he could, studying the bestinterests of the town. In November he started for the East, but atPresque Isle was seized with a fatal malady which ended his useful andenergetic career, and proved a great loss to the country. 

Monsieur St. Armand was late in keeping his word. There had been manythings pressing on his attention and consideration. Jeanne had been veryrestless. A hundred desires flew to her mind like birds on the wing. Never had there seemed so many charms outside of the walls. She ran downto see Marie at the new spinning wheel. Madame De Ber had not used onein a long time and was a little awkward. 

"When I have Marie well trained I think I will take thee in hand, " shesaid, rather severely. "Thou wilt soon be a big girl and then a maidenwho should be laying by some garments and blankets and household gear. And thou canst not even knit. "

"But why should I? There are no brothers and sisters, and Wenonah isglad to make garments for me. Though I think M. Bellestre's money paysfor them. And Touchas sends such nice fur things. "

"I should be ashamed to have other people work while I climbed trees andran about with Indian children. Though it is half suspected they arekin to thee. But the French part should rule. "

Jeanne threw up her head with a proud gesture. 

"I should not mind. I often feel that they must be. They like liberty, so do I. We are like birds and wild deer. "

Then the child ran back before any reply could be made. Yet she was notas indifferent as she seemed. She had not minded it until lately, butnow when it came in this sort of taunt she could not tell why aremembrance of Louis Marsac should rise before her. After all, what dida little Indian blood matter? Many a girl smiled on Louis Marsac, forthey knew his father was a rich fur trader. Was it the riches thatcounted?

"He will not come, " she said half angrily to Pani. "The big ladies arevery proud to have him. They wear fine clothes that come from France, and they can smile and Madame Fleury has a harp her daughters play upon. But they might be content with the young men. "

"It is not late yet, " trying to console her darling. 

"Pani, I shall go outside the gates. I am so tired. I want to run racesto get my breath. It stops just as it does when the fog is in the air. "

"No, child, stay here a little longer. It would be sad to miss him. Andhe is going away. "

"Let him go. I think all men are a great trouble! You wait and wait forthem. Then, if you go away they are sure to come. "

Pani laughed. The child was brimming over with unreason. Yet her eyeswere like stars, and in an uncomprehended way the woman felt the charmof her beauty. No, she would never part with her. 

"O Pani!" The child sprang up and executed a _pas seul_ worthy of alarger audience. Her first impulse was to run to meet him. Then shesuddenly subsided from some inexplicable cause, and a flush came to hercheek as she dropped down on a seat beside the doorway, made of theround of a log, and folded her hands demurely, looking out to thebarracks. 

Of course she turned when she heard the steps. There was a graveexpression on her face, charming innocence that would have led anyoneastray. 

Pani rose and made an obeisance, and brought forward a chair. 

"Or would Monsieur rather go in doors?" she inquired. 

"O no. Little one--" he held out his hand. 

"I thought you had forgotten. It is late, " she said plaintively. 

"I am a busy man, my child. I could wish for a little of the freedomthat you rejoice in so exuberantly, though I dare say I shall haveenough on my journey. "

What a companion this gay, chattering child would be, going through newscenes!

"Mademoiselle, are you ever serious? Or are you too young to takethought of to-morrow?"

"I am always planning for to-morrow, am I not, Pani? And if it rains Ido not mind, but go the same, except that it is not always safe on theriver, which sometimes seems as if the giant monster of the deep wassailing about in it. "

"There is another kind of seriousness, my child, and a thought of thefuture that is not mere pleasure. You will outgrow this gay childhood. You may even find it necessary to go to some other country. There may befriends awaiting you that you know nothing of now. You would no doubtlike to have them pleased with you, proud of you. And for this and trueliving you need some training. You must learn to read, to speak English, and you will find great pleasure in it. Then you will enjoy talking toolder people. You see you will be older yourself. "

His eyes were fixed steadily on hers and would not allow them to waver. She felt the power of the stronger mind. 

"I have been talking with M. Bellestre's notary. He thinks you should goto school. There are to be some schools started as soon as the autumnopens. You know you wanted to learn why the world was round, and aboutthe great continent of Europe and a hundred interesting subjects. "

"But, Monsieur, it is mostly prayers. I do not so much mind Sunday, forthen there are people to see. But to have it every day--and the samethings over and over--"

She gave a yawn that was half ridiculous grimace. 

"Prayers, are very good, Mam'selle. While I am away I want you to prayfor me that sometime God will bring me back safe and allow me to seeyou again. And I shall say when I see the sun rising on the other sideof the world, 'It is night now in old Detroit and there is a little girlpraying for me. '"

"O Monsieur, would you be glad?" Her eyes were suffused with a mistlikejoy. "Then I will pray for you. That is so different from praying forpeople you don't know anything about, and to--to saints. I don't knowthem either. I feel as if they sat in long rows and just nodded to you. "

"Pray to the good God, my child, " he returned gravely. "And if you learnto read and write you might send me a letter. "

Her eyes opened wide in amazement. "Oh, I could never learn enough forthat!" she cried despairingly. 

"Yes, you can, you will. M. Loisel will arrange it for you. And twice aweek you will go to the sisters, I have promised Father Rameau. Therewill be plenty of time to run and play besides. "

Jeanne Angelot looked steadily down on the ground. A caterpillar wasdragging its length along and she touched it with her foot. 

"It was once a butterfly. It will spin itself up in a web and hangsomewhere all winter, and in the spring turn to a butterfly again. "

"That ugly thing!" in intense surprise. 

"And how the trees drop their leaves in the autumn and their buds aredone up in a brown sheath until the spring sunshine softens it and thetiny green leaf comes out, and why the birds go to warmer countries, because they cannot stand snow and sleet, and return again; why the beeshuts himself up in the hollow tree and sleeps, and a hundred beautifulthings. And when I come back we will talk them over. "

"O Monsieur!" Her rose lips quivered and the dimple in her chin deepenedas she drew a long breath that stirred every pulse of her being. 

He had touched the right chord, awakened a new life within her. Therewas a struggle, yet he liked her the better for not giving up herindividuality in a moment. 

"Monsieur, " she exclaimed with a new humility, "I will try--indeed Iwill. "

"That is a brave girl. M. Loisel will attend to the matter. And you willbe very happy after a while. It will come hard at first, but you must becourageous and persevering. And now I must say good-by for a long while. Pani I know will take excellent care of you. "

He rose and shook hands with the woman, whose eyes were full of love forthe child of her adoption. Then he took both of Jeanne's little brownhands in his and pressed them warmly. 

She watched him as he threaded his way through the narrow street andturned the corner. Then she rushed into the house and threw herself onthe small pallet, sobbing as if her heart would break. No one for whomshe cared had ever gone out of her life before. With Pani there wascomplete ownership, but Monsieur St. Armand was a new experience. Neither had she really loved her playmates, she had found them all sodifferent from herself. Next to Pani stood Wenonah and the gravebrown-faced babies who tumbled about the floor when they were notfastened to their birch bark canoe cradle with a flat end balancing itagainst the wall. She sometimes kissed them, they were so quaint andfunny. 

"_Ma mie, ma mie_, let me take thee to my bosom, " Pani pleaded. "He willreturn again as he said, for he keeps his word. And thou wilt be a biggirl and know many things, and he will be proud of thee. And M. Bellestre may come. "

Jeanne's sobs grew less. She had been thrust so suddenly into a newworld of tender emotion that she was frightened. She did not want to goout again, and sat watching Pani as she made some delicious broth out offresh green corn, that was always a great treat to the child. 

It was true there was a new stir in the atmosphere of old Detroit. ForGeneral Wayne with the prescience of an able and far-sighted patriot hadsaid, "To make good citizens they must learn the English language andthere must be schools. Education will be the corner stone of this newcountry. "

Governor St. Clair had a wide territory to look after. There were manyunsettled questions about land and boundaries and proper laws. Newsettlements were projected, but Detroit was left to adjust manyquestions for itself. A school was organized where English and varioussimple branches should be taught. It was opposed by Father Gilbert, whoinsisted that all the French Catholics should be sent to the Recollethouse, and trained in Church lore exclusively. But the wider knowledgewas necessary since there were so many who could not read, and the lawsand courts would be English. 

The school session was half a day. The better class people had a fewselect schools, and sometimes several families joined and had theirchildren taught at the house of some parent and shared expenses. 

Jeanne felt like a wild thing caught and thrust into a cage. There weredisputes and quarrels, but she soon established a standing for herself. The boys called her Indian, and a name that had been flung at her morethan once--tiger cat. 

"You will see that I can scratch, " she rejoined, threateningly. 

"I will learn English, Pani, and no one shall interfere. M. Loisel saidif I went to the sisters on Wednesday and Friday afternoons that FatherRameau would be satisfied. He is nice and kindly, but I hate FatherGilbert. And, " laughingly, "I think they are all afraid of M. Bellestre. Do you suppose he will take me home with him when he comes? I do notwant to leave Detroit. "

Pani sighed. She liked the old town as well. 

Jeanne flew to the woods when school was over. She did envy the Indiangirls their freedom for they were not trained in useful arts as were theFrench girls. Oh, the frolics in the woods, the hunting of berries andgrapes, the loads of beautiful birch and ash bark, the wild flowers thatbloomed until frost came! and the fields turning golden with theripening corn, secure from Indian raids! The thrifty French farmerswatched it with delight. 

Marie De Ber had been kept very busy since the spinning began. Madamethought schooling shortsighted business except for boys who would betraders by and by, and must learn how to reckon correctly and do alittle writing. 

They went after the last gleaning of berries one afternoon, when theautumn sunshine turned all to gold. 

"O Marie, " cried Jeanne, "here is a harvest! Come at once, and if youwant them don't shout to anyone. "

"O Jeanne, how good you are! For you might have called Susanne, who goesto school, and I have thought you liked her better than you do me. "

"No, I do not like her now. She pinched little Jacques Moet until hecried out and then she laid it to Pierre Dessau, who was well thrashedfor it, and I called her a coward. I am afraid girls are not brave. "

"Come nearer and let us hide in this thicket. For if I do not get a biglot of berries mother will send Rose next time, she threatened. "

"You can have some of mine. Pani will not care; for she never scolds atsuch a thing. "

"Pani is very good to you. Mother complains that she spoils you and thatyou are being brought up like a rich girl. "

Jeanne laughed. "Pani never struck me in my life. She isn't quite like amother, you see, but she loves me, loves me!" with emphasis. 

"There are so many for mother to love, " and the girl sighed. 

"Jeanne, " she began presently, "I want to tell you something. Mothersaid I must not mention it until it was quite settled. There is--someone--he has been at father's shop and--and is coming on Sunday to seemother--"

Jeanne stood up suddenly. "It is Martin Lavosse, " she said. "You dancedwith him. He is so gay. O Marie!" and her face was alight. 

"No, it is not Martin. I would not mind if it were. But he is so young, only eighteen. "

"You are young, too. "

Marie sighed again. "You have not seen him. It is Antoine Beeson. He isa boat builder, and has been buying some of the newly surveyed land downat the southern end. Father has known him quite a long while. His sisterhas married and gone to Frenchtown. He is lonely and wants a wife. "

"But there are many girls looking for husbands, " hesitated Jeanne, notknowing whether to approve or oppose; and Marie's husband was such a newidea. 

"So father says. And we have five girls, you know. Rose is as tall as Iand has a prettier face and dances like a sprite. And there are so manyof the fur hunters and traders who drink and spend their money, andsometimes beat their wives. Margot Beeson picked out a wife for him, buthe said she was too old. It was Lise Moet. "

Jeanne laughed. "I should not want to live with her, her voice goesthrough your head like a knife. She is little Jacques' aunt and thechildren are all afraid of her. How old is Antoine?"

"Twenty-eight!" in a low, protesting tone. 

"Just twice as old as you!" said Jeanne with a little calculation. 

"Yes, I can't help but think of it. And when I am thirty he will be anold man sixty years old, bent down and wrinkled and cross, maybe. "

"O no, Marie, " cried Jeanne, eagerly. "It is not that way one reckons. Everything does not double up so fast. He is fourteen years older thanyou, and when you are thirty he can only be fourteen years older thanyou. Count up on your ten fingers--that makes forty, and four more, hewill be forty-four. "

Marie's mouth and eyes opened in surprise. "Are you quite sure?" with anindrawn breath. 

"O yes, sure as that the river runs to the lake. It is what they teachat school. And though it is a great trouble to make yourself remember, and you wonder what it is all about, then at other times you can use theknowledge and are happy and glad over it. There are so many queerthings, " smiling a little. "And they are not in the catechism or theprayers. The sisters shake their heads over them. "

"But can they be quite right?" asked Marie in a kind of awesome tone. 

"Why they seem right for the men to know, " laughed Jeanne. "How elsecould they be bartering and counting money? And it is said that MadameGaneau goes over her husband's books every week since they found JulesFroment was a thief, and kept wrong accounts, putting the money in hisown pocket. "

Jeanne raised her voice triumphantly. 

"Oh, here they are!" cried Cecile followed by a string of girls. "Andlook, they have found a harvest, their pails are almost full. You mean, selfish things!"

"Why you had the same right to be hunting everywhere, " declared Jeannestoutly. "We found a good place and we picked--that is all there is ofit. "

"But you might have called us. "

Jeanne laughed in a tantalizing manner. 

"O Jeanne Angelot, you think yourself some great things because you liveinside the stockade and go to a school where they teach all manner oflies to the children. Your place is out in some Indian wigwam. You'rehalf Indian, anyhow. "

"Look at us!" Jeanne made a sudden bound and placed herself besideCecile, whose complexion was swarthy, her hair straight, black, andrather coarse, and her dark eyes had a yellowish tinge, even to thewhites. "Perhaps I am the descendant of some Indian princess--I shouldbe proud of it, for the Indians once held all this great new world; andthe French and English could not hold it. "

There was a titter among the girls. Never had Jeanne looked prouder orhandsomer, and Cecile's broad nose distended with anger while her lipswere purple. She was larger but she did not dare attack Jeanne, for sheknew the nature and the prowess of the tiger cat. 

"Let us go home; it gets late, " cried one of the girls, turning hercompanion about. 

"O Jeanne, " whispered Marie, "how splendid you are! No husband wouldever dare beat you. "

"I should tear out his eyes if he did. "

CHAPTER VII. 

LOVERS AND LOVERS. 

There were days when Jeanne Angelot thought she should smother in thestuffy school, and the din of the voices went through her head like therushing noise of a whirlwind. She had stolen out of the room once ortwice and had not been called to an account for it. Then one day she sawa boy whipped severely for the same thing. Children were so often beatenin those days, and yet the French habitans were very fond of theiroffspring. 

Jeanne lingered after the children made their clumsy bows and shuffledout. 

"Well, what is it?" asked the gruff master. 

"Monsieur, you whipped the Dorien boy for running away from school. "

"Yes, and I'll do it again. I'll break up the bad practice. Theirparents send them to school. They do a mean, dishonest thing and thenthey lie about it. Don't come sniveling to me about Dorien. "

"Monsieur, I was not going to snivel for anybody. You were right to keepyour word. If you had promised a holiday and not given it to us weshould have felt that you were mean and not of your word. So what isright for one side is right for the other. "

He looked over the tops of his glasses, and he made deep wrinkles inhis forehead to do it. His eyes were keen and sharp and disconcertedJeanne a little. 

"Upon my word!" he ejaculated. 

Jeanne drew a long breath and was almost afraid to go on with herconfession. Only she should not feel clean inside until she had utteredit. 

"There'd be no trouble teaching school if the pupils could see that. There'd be little trouble in the world if the people could see it. It isthe good on my side, the bad shoved off on yours. Who taught you such asense of fairness, of honesty?"

If he could have gotten his grim face into smiling lines he would havedone it. As it was it softened. 

"Monsieur, I wanted to tell you that I had not been fair. I ran out ofschool the second day. It was like daggers going through my head andthere were stars before my eyes and such a ringing in my ears! So I ranout of doors, clear out to the woods and stayed there up in a high treewhere the birds sang to me and the wind made music among the leaves andone could almost look through the blue sky where the white boats wentsailing. I thought I would not come to school any more. "

"Well--you did though. " He was trying to think who this strange childwas. 

"You see I had promised. And I wanted to learn English and many otherthings that are not down in the prayers and counting beads. Pani said itwas wrong. So I came back. You did not know I had run away, Monsieur. "

"No, but there was no rule then. I should have been glad if half of themhad run away. "

He gave a chuckle and a funny gleam shone out of his eye, and there wasa curl in his lip as if the amusement could not get out. 

Jeanne wanted to smile. She should never be afraid of him again. 

"And there was another time--"

"How many more?"

"No more. For Pani said, 'Would you like to tell Monsieur St. Armand?'--and I knew I should be ashamed. "

A delicate flush stole over her face, going up to the tangle of rings onher forehead. What a pretty child she was!

"Monsieur St. Armand?" inquiringly. 

"He was here in the summer. He has gone to Paris. And he wanted me tostudy. It is hard and sometimes foolishness, but then people are so muchnicer who know a great many things. "

"Oh, " he said thoughtfully, "you live with an Indian woman up by thebarracks? It is Monsieur Loisel's protégée?" and he gave her aninquiring look. 

"Monsieur, I would like to know what a protégée is, " with a puzzledlook. 

"Some one, generally a child, in whom you take an interest. "

She gave a thoughtful nod, then a quick joy flamed up in her face. Shewas Monsieur St. Armand's protégée and she was very glad. 

"You are a courageous child. I wish the boys were as brave. I hatelying;" the man said after a pause. 

"O M'sieu, there are a great many cowardly people--do you not think so?"she returned naïvely. 

He really smiled then, and gave several emphatic nods at her youthfuldiscrimination. 

"And you think you will not run away any more?"

"No, Monsieur, because--it is wrong. "

"Then we must excuse you. "

"Thank you, Monsieur. I wanted you to know. Now I can feel lighthearted. "

She made a pretty courtesy and half turned. 

"If you did not mind I should like to hear something about your MonsieurSt. Armand, that is, if you are not in a hurry to get home to yourdinner. "

"Oh, Pani will wait. "

She told her story eagerly, and he saw the wish to please this friendwho had shown such an interest in her was a strong incentive. But shehad a desire for knowledge beside that. So many of the children werestupid and hated study. He would watch over her and see that sheprogressed. This, no doubt, was the friend M. Loisel had spoken of. 

"You have been very good to me, M'sieu, " she said with another courtesyas she turned away. 

Several days had elapsed before she saw Marie again, for Madame De Berrather discountenanced the intimacy now. She had not much opinion of theschool; the sisters and the priests could teach all that was necessary. And Jeanne still ran about like a wild deer, while Marie was a woman. 

On Sunday Antoine Beeson came to pay his respects to Madame, the mamma. He surely could not be considered a young girl's ideal, --short, stout, red-faced from exposure to wind and water and sun, his thick brown hairrather long, though he had been clean shaven the evening before. He worehis best deerskin breeches, his gray sort of blouse with a red belt, andlow, clumsy shoes with his father's buckles that had come from France, and he was duly proud of them. His gay bordered handkerchief and hisnecktie were new for the occasion. 

Monsieur De Ber had satisfied himself that he would make a goodson-in-law. 

"For you see there is the house all ready, and now the servant has nohead and is idle and wasteful. I cannot stand such work. I wish yourdaughter was two or three years older, since I cannot go back myself, "the admirer exclaimed rather regretfully. 

"Marie will be fifteen in the spring. She has been well trained, beingthe eldest girl, and Madame is a thrifty and excellent housekeeper. Thenwe all mend of youth. You will have a strong, healthy woman to care foryou in your old age, instead of a decrepit body to be a burthen to you. "

"That is well thought of, De Ber;" and the suitor gave a short chuckle. There was wisdom in the idea. 

Madame had sent Marie and Rose out to walk with the children. She knewshe should accept the suitor, for her husband had said:--

"It is quite a piece of luck, since there are five girls to marry off. And there's many a one who would jump at the chance. Then we shall nothave to give Marie much dowry beside her setting out. It is not likeyoung people beginning from the very hearthstone. "

She met the suitor with a friendly greeting as if he were an ordinaryvisitor, and they talked of the impending changes in the town, thecoming of the Americans, the stir in business prospects, M. Beeson wasnot much of a waster of words, and he came to the point presently. 

"It will be hard to spare Marie, " she said with an accent of regret. "Being the eldest she has had a great deal of experience. She is like amother to the younger ones. She has not been spending her time infooling around idly and dancing and being out on the river, like so manygirls. Rose is not worth half of Marie, and I do not see how I shallever get the trifler trained to take Marie's place. But there need be noimmediate haste. "

"O Madame, we can do our courting afterward. I can take Mam'selle out tothe booths Saturday night, and we can look at the dancing. There will beall day Sunday when I am at liberty. But you see there is the housegoing to wrack, the servant spending my money, and the discomfort. Imiss my sister so much. And I thought we would not make a long story. Dear Madame, you must see the need. "

"It is sad to be sure. But you see Marie being so young and kept ratherclose, not having any admirers, it takes us suddenly. And the weddinggear--"

"Mam'selle always looks tidy. But I suppose a girl wants some show atthe church and the maids. Well, one doesn't get married many times inone's life. But I would like it to be by Christmas. It will be a littledull with me no doubt, and toward spring it is all hurry and drive, Antoine here and Antoine there. New boats and boats to be patched andcanoes and dugouts. Then the big ships are up for repairs. I have workedmoonlight nights, Madame. And Christmas is a pleasurable time. "

"Yes, a pleasant time for a girl to remember. I was married atPentecost. And there was the great procession. Dear! dear! It is notmuch over seventeen years ago and we have nine children. "

"Pierre is a big lad, Madame, and a great help to his father. Childrenare a pleasure and comfort in one's old age if they do well. And thineare being well brought up. Marie is so good and steady. It is not wisdomfor a man like me to choose a flighty girl. "

"Marie will make a good wife, " returned Madame, confidently. 

And so when Marie returned it was all settled and Antoine had beeninvited to tea. Marie was in a desperate flutter. Of course there wasnothing for her to say and she would not have had the courage to say itif there had been. But she could not help comparing him with MartinLavosse, and some of the young men who greeted her at church. If hisface were not quite so red, and his figure so clumsy! His hands, too, were broad with stubby ends to the fingers. She looked at her own; theywere quite shapely, for youth has a way of throwing off the marks oftoil that are ready enough to come back in later life. 

"_Ma fille_, " said her mother when the lover had wished them all goodnight, rather awkwardly, and her father had gone out to walk with him;"_ma fille_, Monsieur Beeson has done us the honor to ask for thy hand. He is a good, steady, well-to-do man with a nice home to take thee to. He does not carouse nor spend his money foolishly, but will always stayat home with thee, and make thee happy. Many a girl will envy thy lot. He wants the wedding about Christmas time, so the betrothal will besoon, in a week or so. Heaven bless and prosper thee, my child! A gooddaughter will not make an ill wife. Thy father is very proud. "

Rose and Marie looked unutterable things at each other when they went tobed. There were little pitchers in the trundle-bed, and their parents inthe next room. 

"If he were not so old!" whispered Rose. 

"And if he could dance! But with that figure!"

"Like a buffalo!" Marie's protest forced its way up from her heart. "AndI have just begun to think of things that make one happy. There will bedances at Christmastide. "

"I wonder if one is sure to love one's husband, " commented Rose. 

"It would be wicked not to. But how does one begin? I am so afraid ofhis loud voice. "

"Girls, cease whispering and go to sleep. The night will be none toolong, " called their mother. 

Marie wiped some tears from her eyes. But it was a great comfort to herwhen she was going to church the next Sunday and walking behind theBronelle girls to hear Hortense say:--

"I have my cap set for Tony Beeson. His sister has kept close watch ofhim, but now he is free. I was down to the dock on Friday, and he wasvery cordial and sent a boy over the river with me in a canoe and wouldtake no pay. Think of that! I shall make him walk home with me if Ican. "

Marie De Ber flushed. Some one would be glad to have him. At first shehalf wished he had chosen Hortense, then a bit of jealousy and a bit oftriumph surged through her slow pulses. 

Antoine Beeson walked home on the side of M. De Ber. The children oldenough to go to church were ranged in a procession behind. Pierreguarded his sisters. Jeanne was on the other side of the street withPani, but the distance was so small that she glanced across withquestioning eyes. Marie held her head up proudly. 

"I do believe, " began Jeanne when they had turned out of St Anne'sstreet, "that Marie De Ber is going to be betrothed to that rough boatbuilder who walks beside her father. "

"Antoine Beeson has a good record, and she will do well, " returned Panibriefly. 

"But I think it would not be easy to love him, " protested Jeanne. 

"Child, you are too young to talk about love. It is the parents whodecide such matters. "

"And I have none. You could not make me marry anyone, Pani. And I do notlike these common men. "

"Heaven forbid! but I might advise. "

"I am not going to marry, you know. After all, maybe when I get old Iwill be a sister. It won't be hard to wear a black gown then. But Ishall wait until I am _very_ old. Pani, did you ever dream of what mighthappen to you?"

"The good God sends what is best for us, child. "

"But--Monsieur Bellestre might come. And if he took me away thenMonsieur St. Armand might come. Pani, is Monsieur Bellestre as nice asMonsieur St. Armand? I cannot seem to remember him. "

"Little maids should not be thinking of men so often. Think of thyprayers, Jeanne. "

Sunday was a great time to walk on the parade ground, the young menattired in their best, the demoiselles gay as butterflies with a motheror married sister to guard them from too great familiarity. But therewas much decorous coquetting on both sides, for even at that period manya young fellow was caught by a pair of smiling eyes. 

Others went to walk in the woods outside the farms or sailing on theriver, since there was no Puritan strictness. They did their duty by themorning mass and service, and the rest of the day was given over tosimple pleasure. There was a kind of half religious hilarity in the veryair. 

And the autumn was so magnificently beautiful. The great hillsides withtheir tracts of timber that looked as if they fenced in the world whenthe sun dropped down behind them, but if one threaded one's way throughthe dark aisles and came out on the other side there were wonderfulpictures, --small prairies or levels that suggested lakes and then a sortof avenue stretching out until another was visible, undulating surfaces, groves of pine, burr oak, and great stalwart hickories, then anotherwoody ridge, and so on and on through interminable tangles and overrivers until Lake Michigan was reached. But not many of the habitans, oreven the English, for that matter, had traveled to the other side of thestate. The business journeys called them northward. There were Indiansettlements about that were not over friendly. 

Jeanne liked the outside world better. She was not old enough for smilesand smirks or an interest in fine clothes. So when she said, "Come, Pani, " the woman rose and followed. 

"To the tree?" she asked as they halted a little. 

"To the big woods, " smilingly. 

The cottages were many of them framed in with vines and high pickets, and pear and apple orchards surrounded them, whose seed and, in someinstances, cuttings had been brought from France; roses, too, whoseancestors had blossomed for kings and queens. Here and there was an oakturned ruddy, a hickory hanging out slender yellow leaves, or a mapleflaunting a branch of wondrous scarlet. The people had learned toprotect and defend themselves from murderous Indian raids, or in thisvicinity the red men had proved more friendly. 

Pierre De Ber came shambling along. He had grown rapidly and seemedloose jointed, but he had a kindly, honest face where ignorance reallywas simplicity. 

"You fly over the ground, Jeanne!" he exclaimed out of breath. The daywas very warm for September. "Here I have been trying to catch up toyou--"

"Yes, Mam'selle, I am tired myself. Let us sit down somewhere and rest, "said Pani. 

"Just to this little hillock. Pani, it would make a hut with theclearing inside and the soft mosses. If you drew the branches of thetrees together it would make thatching for the roof. One could livehere. "

"O Mam'selle, --the Indians!" cried Pierre. 

Jeanne laughed. "The Indians are going farther and farther away. Now, Pani, sit down here. Then lean back against this tree. And now you maytake a good long rest. I am going to talk to the chipmunks and thebirds, and find flowers. "

Pani drew up her knees, resting on her feet as a brace. The soft air hadmade her sleepy as well, and she closed her eyes. 

"It is so beautiful, " sighed Jeanne. "Something rises within me and Iwant to fly. I want to know what strange lands there are beyond theclouds. And over there, far, farther than one can think, is a big oceanno one has ever seen. It is on the map. And this way, " inclining herhead eastward, "is another. That is where you go to France. "

"But I shall never go to France, " said the literal youth. "I want to goup to Michilimackinac, and there is the great Lake Huron. That isenough for me. If the ocean is any bigger I do not want to see it. "

"It is, oh, miles and hundreds of miles bigger! And it takes more than amonth to go. The master showed me on a map. "

"Well, I don't care for that, " pulling the leaves off a branch he hadused for a switch. 

The rough, rugged, and sometimes cross face of the master was better, because his eyes had a wonderful light in them. What made people sodifferent? Apples and pears and ears of corn generally grew one like theother. And pigs--she smiled to herself. And the few sheep she had seen. But people could think. What gave one the thinking power? In the brainthe master said. Did every one have brains?

"Jeanne, I have something wonderful to tell you. "

"Oh, I think I know it! Marie has a lover. "

He looked disappointed. "Who told you?"

"No one really told me. I saw Monsieur Beeson walking home with yourfather. And Marie was afraid--"

"Afraid!" the boy gave a derisive laugh. "Well, she is no longer afraid. They are going to be betrothed on Michaelmas eve. Tony is a goodfellow. "

"Then if Marie is--satisfied--"

"Why shouldn't she be satisfied? Father says it is a great chance, foryou see she can really have no dowry, there are so many of us. We mustall wait for our share until father has gone. "

"Gone? Where?" She looked up in surprise. 

"Why, when he is dead. Everybody has to die, you know. And then themoney they leave is divided. "

Jeanne nodded. It shocked her in a vague sort of fashion, and she wasglad Pani had no money. 

"And Tony Beeson has a good house and a good business. I like him, " theboy said, doggedly. 

"Yes, " assentingly. "But Marie is to marry him. "

"Oh, the idea!" Pierre laughed immoderately. "Why a man always marries awoman. "

"But your liking wouldn't help Marie. "

"Oh, Marie is all right. She will like him fast enough. And it will begay to have a wedding. That is to be about Christmas. "

Jeanne was looking down the little slant to the cottages and thewigwams, and speculating upon the queerness of marriage. 

"I wish I had made as much fortune as Tony Beeson. But then I'm only alittle past sixteen, and in five years I shall be twenty-one. Then I amgoing to have a wife and house of my own. "

"O Pierre!" Jeanne broke into a soft laugh. 

"Yes, Jeanne--" turning very red. 

The girl was looking at him in a mirthful fashion and it ratherdisconcerted him. 

"You won't mind waiting, Jeanne--"

"I shan't mind waiting, but if you mean--" her cheeks turned a deeperscarlet and she made a little pause--"if you mean marrying I should mindthat a good deal;" in a decisive tone. 

"But not to marry me? You have known me always. "

"I should mind marrying anyone. I shouldn't want to sweep the house, andcook the meals, and wash, and tend babies. I want to go and come as Ilike. I hated school at first, but now I like learning and I must crackthe shell to get at the kernel, so you see that is why I make myselfagree with it. "

"You cannot go to school always. And while you are there I shall be upto the Mich making some money. "

"Oh, " with a vexed crease in her forehead, "I told you once before notto talk of this--the day we were all out in the boat, you remember. Andif you go on I shall hate you; yes, I shall. "

"I shall go on, " said the persistent fellow. "Not very often, perhaps, but I thought if you were one of the maids at Marie's wedding and Icould wait on you--"

"I shall not be one of the maids. " She rose and stamped her foot on theground. "Your mother does not like me any more. She never asks me tocome in to tea. She thinks the school wicked. And you must marry toplease her, as Marie is doing. So it will not be me;" she declared withemphasis. 

"Oh, I know. That Louis Marsac will come back and you will marry him. "

The boy's eyes flamed with jealousy and his whole face gloomed over withcruelty. "And then I shall kill him. I couldn't stand it, " hecontinued. 

"I hate Louis Marsac! I hate you, Pierre De Ber!" she cried vehemently. 

The boy fell at her feet and kissed the hem of her frock, for shesnatched away her hands. 

"No, don't hate me. I'm glad to have you hate him. "

"Get up, or I shall kick you, " she said viciously. 

"O Jeanne, don't be angry! I'll wait and wait. I thought you hadforgotten, or changed somehow. You have been so pleasant. And you smiledso at me this morning. I know you have liked me--"

"If ever you say another word--" raising her hand. 

"I won't unless you let me. You see you are not grown up yet, butsometimes people are betrothed when they are little children--"

She put her fingers in her ears and spun round and round, going down thelittle decline. Then she remembered Pani, who had fallen asleep. Shemotioned to Pierre. 

"Go home, " she commanded as he came toward her. "And if you ever talkabout this to me again I shall tell your father. I am not for anybody. Ishall not mind if I am one of St. Catherine's maids. "

"Jeanne--"

"Go!" She made an imperative motion with her hand. 

He walked slowly away. She started like a mad thing and ran through thewoods at the top of her speed until her anger had vanished. 

"Poor Pierre, " she said. "This talk of marriage has set him crazy. ButI could never like him, and Madame Mère just hates me. "

She went slowly back to Pani and sat down by her side. How tired shelooked!

"And I dragged her way up here, " she thought remorsefully. "I'm glad shedidn't wake up. "

So she sat there patiently and let the woman finish her nap. But herbeautiful thoughts were gone and her mind was shadowed by somethinggrave and strange that she shrank from. Then Pani stirred. 

"O child, I've been sleeping stupidly and you have not gathered aflower--" looking at the empty hands. "Have you been here all the time?"

"No matter. Pani, am I a tyrant dragging you everywhere?" Her voice wastouching with regret. 

"No, _cherie_. But sometimes I feel old. I've lived a great many years. "

"How many?"

"Oh, I cannot count them up. But I am rested now. Shall we walk about alittle and get my knees limber? Where is Pierre?"

"He went home. Pani, it is true Marie is to be betrothed to M'sieuBeeson, and married at Christmastide. "

"And if the sign holds good Madame De Ber will be fortunate in marryingoff her girls, for, if the first hangs on, it is bad for the rest. Rosewill be much prettier, and no doubt have lovers in plenty. But it is notalways the prettiest that make the best wives. Marie is sensible. Theywill have a grand time. "

"And I shall not be counted in, " the child said proudly. 

"Jeanne, little one--" in surprise. 

"Madame does not like me because I go to the heretic school. And--I donot sew nor spin, nor sweep the house--"

"There is no need, " interrupted Pani. 

"No, since I do not mean to have a husband. "

And yet--how amusing it was--a boy and a man were ready to quarrel overher. Did ever any little girl have two lovers?

"Ah, little one, smile over it now, but thou wilt change presently whenthe right bird whistles through the forest. "

"I will not come for any man's whistle. "

"That is only a saying, dear. "

They walked down the hill. Cheerful greetings met them and Pani wasloaded with fruit. At the hut of Wenonah, the mistress insisted upontheir coming in to supper and Jeanne consented for them both. For, although the bell rang, the gates were no longer closed at six. 

Marie De Ber made several efforts to see her friend, but her mother'swatchful eye nipped them in the bud. One Friday afternoon they met. Wednesday following was to be the betrothal. 

"I wanted to explain--" Marie flushed and hesitated. "There have beenmany guests asked, and they are mostly older people--"

"Yes, I know. I am only a child, and your mother does not approve. ThenI go to the heretic school. "

"She thinks the school a bad thing. And about the maids--"

"I could not be one of them, " Jeanne said stiffly. 

"Mother has chosen them, I had no say. She manages everything. When Ihave my own home I shall do as I like and invite whom I choose. Motherthinks I do not know anything and have no mind, but, Jeanne, I love you, and I am not afraid of what you learn at school. Monsieur Beeson said itwas a good thing. And you will not be angry with me?"

"No, no, Marie. " The child's heart was touched. 

"We will be friends afterward. I shall tell M'sieu Beeson how long wehave cared for each other. "

"You--like him?" hesitatingly. 

"He is very kind. And girls cannot choose. I wish he were younger, butit will be gay at Christmastide, and my own home will be much to me. Yes, we will wait until then. Jeanne, kiss me for good luck. You arequite sure you are not angry?"

"Oh, very sure. "

The two girls kissed each other and Jeanne cried, "Good luck! goodluck!" But all the same she felt Marie was going out of her life and itwould leave a curious vacancy. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A TOUCH OF FRIENDSHIP. 

How softly the bells rang out for the service of St. Michael and AllAngels! The river flowing so tranquilly seemed to carry on the melodyand then bring back a faint echo. It was a great holiday with theFrench. The early mass was thronged, somehow the virtue seemed greaterif one went to that. Then there was a procession that marched to thelittle chapels outside, which were hardly more than shrines. 

Pani went out early and alone. And though the good priest had said toher, "The child is old enough and should be confirmed, " since M. Bellestre had some objections and insisted that Jeanne should not behurried into any sacred promises, and the child herself seemed to haveno desire, they waited. 

"But you peril the salvation of her soul. Since she has been baptizedshe should be confirmed, " said Father Rameau. "She is a child of theChurch. And if she should die!"

"She will not die, " said Pani with a strange confidence, "and she is todecide for herself. "

"What can a child know!"

"Then if she cannot know she must be blameless. Monsieur Bellestre was avery good man. And, M'sieu, some who come to mass, to their shame be itsaid, cheat their neighbors and get drunk, and tempt others to drink. "

"Most true, but that doesn't lessen our duty. "

M. Bellestre had not come yet. This time a long illness had intervened. 

Jeanne went out in the procession and sang in the hymns and the rosary. And she heard about the betrothal. The house had been crowded withguests and Marie had on a white frock and a beautiful sash, and her hairwas curled. 

In spite of her protests Jeanne did feel deeply hurt that she should beleft out. Marie had made a timid plea for her friend. 

"We cannot ask all the children in the town, " said her motheremphatically. "And no one knows whether she has any real position. Sheis a foundling, and no company for you. "

Pani went down the river with her in the afternoon. She was gayetyitself, singing little songs and laughing over everything so that shequite misled her nurse into thinking that she really did not care. Thenshe made Pani tell some old legends of the spirits who haunted the lakesand rivers, and she added to them some she had heard Wenonah relate. 

"I should like to live down in some depths, one of the beautiful caveswhere there are gems and all lovely things, " said the child. 

"As if there were not lovely things in the forests. There are no birdsin the waters. And fishes are not as bright and merry as squirrels. "

"That is true enough. I'll stay on the earth a little while longer, "laughingly. "But look at the lovely colors. O Pani, how many beautifulthings there are! And yet Berthê Campeau is going to Quebec to become anun and be shut out of it. How can you praise God for things you do notsee and cannot enjoy? And is it such a good thing to suffer? Does Godrejoice in the pain that he doesn't send and that you take uponyourself? Her poor mother will die and she will not be here to comforther. "

Pani shook her head. The child had queer thoughts. 

"Pani, we must go and see Madame Campeau afterward. She will be verylonely. You would not be happy if I went away?"

"O child!" with a quick cry. 

"So I am not going. If Monsieur Bellestre wants me he will take you, too. "

Pani nodded. 

They noted as they went down that a tree growing imprudently near thewater's edge had fallen in. There was a little bend in the river, and itreally was dangerous. So coming back they gave it a sensibly wide berth. 

A canoe with a young man in it came flying up. The sun had gone down andthere were purple shadows about like troops of spirits. 

"Monsieur, " the child cried, "do not hug the shore so much. There isdanger. "

A gay laugh came back to them and he flashed on, his paddle poised at amost graceful angle. 

"O Monsieur!" with eager warning. 

The paddle caught. The dainty canoe turned over and floated out of reachwith a slight gust of wind. 

"Monsieur"--Jeanne came nearer--"it was a fallen tree. It was so dusk Iknew you could not see it. "

He was swimming toward them. "I wonder if you can help me recover myboat. "

"Monsieur, swim in to the shore and I will bring the canoe there. " Shewas afraid to risk taking him in hers. "Just down below to escape thetree. "

"Oh, thank you. Yes, that will be best. "

His strokes were fine and strong even if he was encumbered by hisclothing. Jeanne propelled her canoe along and drove the other in toshore, then caught it with a rope. He emerged from his bath and shookhimself. 

"You have been very kind. I should have heeded your warning or asked youwhat it meant. And now--I have lost my paddle. "

"I have an extra one, Monsieur. "

"You are a godsend certainly. Lend it to me. "

He waded out, rescued his canoe and leaped adroitly into it. She wasinterested in the ease and grace. 

"That tree is a dangerous thing, " he exclaimed. 

"They will remove it, Monsieur. It must have recently fallen in. Thetide has washed the ground away. "

"It was quite a mishap, but owing to your quick thought I am not muchthe worse;" and he laughed. "I do not mind a wetting. As for the lostpaddle that will break no one's heart. But I shall remember you withgratitude. May I ask your name?"

"It is Jeanne Angelot, " she said simply. 

"Oh, then I ought to know you--do know you a little. My father is theSieur St. Armand. "

"Oh!" Jeanne gave a little cry of delight. 

"And I have a message for you. I was coming to find you to-morrow. "

"Monsieur may take cold in his wet clothes, Jeanne. We ought to go alittle faster, " said Pani. "The air is getting chilly here on theriver. "

"If you do not mind I will hasten on. And to-morrow I shall be glad tocome and thank you again and deliver my message. "

"Adieu, " responded Jeanne, with a delicious gayety. 

He was off like a bird and soon out of sight. Jeanne drew her canoe upto a quiet part of the town, below the gate. The day was ending, asholidays often did, in a sort of carouse. Men were playing on fiddles, crowds of men and boys were dancing. By some flaring light others wereplaying cards or dominoes. The two threaded their way quickly along, Jeanne with her head and face nearly hidden by the big kerchief that waslike a shawl. 

"How queer it was, Pani!" and she laughed. Her eyes were like stars intheir pleasure. "And to think Monsieur St. Armand has sent me a message!Do you suppose he is in France? I asked the master to show me France--hehas a map of these strange countries. "

"A map!" gasped Pani, as if it were an evil spirit. 

"Why, it is like a picture with lines all about it. This is France. Thisis Spain. And England, where the English come from. I should think theywould--it is such a little place. Ever so many other countries as well. But after all I don't understand about their going round--"

"Come and have some supper. "

"We should have seen him anyhow if he had not fallen into the river. Andit was funny! If he had heeded what I said--it was lucky we saw the treeas we went down. "

"He will give due notice of it, no doubt. The water is so clear that itcan easily be seen in the daytime. Otherwise I should feel troubled. "

Jeanne nodded with gay affirmation. She was in exuberant spirits, andcould hardly eat. 

Then they sat out in the doorway, shaded somewhat by the clinging vines. From below there was a sound of music. Up at the Fort the band wasplaying. There was no moon, but the stars were bright and glittering instrange tints. Now and then a party rather merry with wine and whiskytrolled out a noisy stave that had been imported from the mother countryyears ago about Jacques and his loves and his good wine. 

Presently the great bell clanged out. That was a signal for booths toshut, for deerhide curtains to be drawn. Some obstreperous soldiers weremarched to the guardhouse. Some drunken revelers crept into a nookbeside a storage box or hid in a tangle of vines to sleep untilmorning. 

But in many of the better class houses merriment and gayety went onwhile the outside decorousness was observed. There was a certain respectpaid to law and the new rulers were not so arbitrary as the English hadbeen. Also French prejudices were wearing slowly away while the realcharacteristics of the race remained. 

"I shall not go to school to-day, " said Jeanne the next morning. "I willtell the master how it was, and he will pardon me. And I will get twolessons to-morrow, so the children will see that he does not favor me. Ithink they are sometimes jealous. "

She laughed brightly and went dancing about singing whatever soundsentered her mind. Now it was a call of birds, then a sharp high cry, anon a merry whistle that one might fancy came from the woods. She ranout and in, she looked up and down the narrow street with its crooksthat had never been smoothed out, and with some houses standing in thevery road as it were. Everything was crowded in the business part. 

Rose De Ber spied her out and came running up to greet her; tossing herhead consequentially. 

"We had a gay time last night. I wish you could have peeped in thewindows. But you know it was not for children, only grown people. MartinLavosse danced ever so many times with me, but he moaned about Marie, and I said, 'By the time thou art old enough to marry she will have ahouseful of babies, perhaps she will give you her first daughter, ' andhe replied, 'I shall not wait that length of time. There are still goodfish in the lakes and rivers, but I am sorry to see her wed before shehas had a taste of true life and pleasure. ' And, Jeanne, I have resolvedthat mother shall not marry me off to the first comer. "

Jeanne nodded approval. 

"I do not see what has come over Pierre, " she went on. "He was grumpy asa wounded bear last night and only a day or two ago he made such amistake in reckoning that father beat him. And Monsieur Beeson andmother nearly quarreled over the kind of learning girls should have. Hesaid every one should know how to read and write and figure a little sothat she could overlook her husband's affairs if he should be ill. Marieis going to learn to read afterward, and she is greatly pleased. "

It was true that ignorance prevailed largely among the common people. The children were taught prayers and parts of the service and catechismorally, since that was all that concerned their souls' salvation, and itkept a wider distinction between the classes. But the jolly, merryFrenchman, used to the tradition of royalty, cared little. His place wasat the end of the line and he enjoyed the freedom. He would not haveexchanged his rough, comfortable dress for all the satin waistcoats, velvet small clothes and lace ruffles in the world. Like the Indian hehad come to love his liberty and the absence of troublesomerestrictions. 

But the English had brought in new methods, although education with themwas only for the few. The colonist from New England made this aspecialty. As soon as possible in a new settlement schools wereestablished, but there were other restrictions before them and learningof most kinds had to fight its way. 

Jeanne saw her visitor coming up the street just as her patience wasalmost exhausted. She was struck with a sudden awe at the sight of thewell dressed young man. 

"Did you think I would not keep my word?" he asked gayly. 

"But your father did, " she answered gravely. 

"Ah, I am afraid I shall never make so fine a man. I have seen no onelike him, Mam'selle, though there are many courageous and honorable menin the world. But you know I have not met everybody, " laughing andshowing white, even teeth between the red lips. "Good day!" to Pani, whoinvited him in into the room where she had set a chair for him. 

"I want to ask your pardon for my rudeness yesterday, " bowing to thechild and the woman. "Perhaps my handling of the canoe did not impressyou with the idea of superior knowledge, but I have been used to it fromboyhood, and have shot rapids, been caught in gales, oh, almosteverything!"

"It was not that, Monsieur. We had seen the tree with its branches likeso many clinging arms, and it was getting purple and dun as you came up, so we thought it best to warn. "

"And I obstinately ran right into danger, which shows how much goodadvice is thrown away. You see the paddle caught and over I went. Butthe first thing this morning some boatmen went down and removed it. However, I did not mind the wetting. It was not the first time. "

"And Monsieur did not take cold? The nights are chilly now along theriver's edge. The sun slips down suddenly, " was Pani's anxious comment. 

"Oh, no. I am inured to such things. I have been a traveler, too. It wasa gay day yesterday, Mam'selle. "

"Yes, " answered Jeanne. Yet she had felt strangely solitary. "Yourfather, Monsieur, is in France. I have been learning about thatcountry. "

"Oh, no, not yet. There was some business in Washington. To-morrow Ileave Detroit to rejoin him in New York, from which place we set sail, though the journey is a somewhat dangerous one now, what with pirateships and England claiming a right of search. But we shall trust a goodProvidence. "

"You go also, " she said with a touch of disappointment. It gave abewitching gravity to her countenance. 

"Oh, yes. My father and I are never long apart. We are very fond of eachother. "

"And your mother--" she asked hesitatingly. 

"I do not remember her, for I was an infant when she died. But my fatherkeeps her in mind always. And I must give you his message. "

He took out a beautifully embossed leathern case with silver mountingsand ran over the letters. 

"Ah--here. 'I want you to see my little friend, Jeanne Angelot, andreport her progress to me. I hope the school has not frightened her. Tell her there are little girls in other cities and towns who arelearning many wonderful things and will some day grow up into charmingwomen such as men like for companions. It will be hard and tiresome, butshe must persevere and learn to write so that she can send me a letter, which I shall prize very highly. Give her my blessing and say she mustbecome a true American and honor the country of which we are all goingto feel very proud in years to come. But with all this she must neveroutgrow her love for her foster mother, to whom I send respect, nor herfaith in the good God who watches over and will keep her from all harmif she puts her trust in him. '"

Jeanne gave a long sigh. "O Monsieur, it is wonderful that people cantalk this way on paper. I have tried, but the master could not helplaughing and I laughed, too. It was like a snail crawling about and thepen would go twenty ways as if there was an evil sprite in my fingers. But I shall keep on although it is very tiresome and I have such alonging to be out in the fields and woods, chasing squirrels and singingto the birds, which sometimes light on my shoulder. And I know a goodmany English words, but the reading looks so funny, as if there were nosense to it!"

"But there is a great deal. You will be very glad some day. Then I maytake a good account to him and tell him you are trying to obey hiswishes?"

"Yes, Monsieur, I shall be very glad to. And he will write me the letterthat he promised?"

"Indeed he will. He always keeps his promises. And I shall tell him youare happy and glad as a bird soaring through the air?"

"Not always glad. Sometimes a big shadow falls over me and my breaththrobs in my throat. I cannot tell what makes the strange feeling. Itdoes not come often, and perhaps when I have learned more it willvanish, for then I can read books and have something for my thoughts. But I am glad a good deal of the time. "

"I don't wonder my father was interested in her, " Laurent St. Armandthought. He studied the beautiful eyes with their frank innocence, thedainty mouth and chin, the proud, uplifted expression that indicatednobleness and no self-consciousness. 

"And now I must bid thee good-by with my own and my father's blessing. We shall return to America and find you again. You will hardly go awayfrom Detroit?"

She was quite ready at that moment to give up M. Bellestre's plans forher future. 

He took her hand. Then he pressed his lips upon it with the gravecourtesy of a gentleman. 

"Adieu, " he said softly. "Pani, watch well over her. "

The woman bowed her head with a deeper feeling than mere assent. 

Jeanne sat down on the doorstep, leaning her elbow on her knee and herchin in her hand. Grave thoughts were stirring within her, theawakening of a new life on the side she had seen, but never known. Thebeautiful young women quite different from the gay, chatteringdemoiselles, their proudly held heads, their dignity, their soft voices, their air of elegance and refinement, all this Jeanne Angelot felt butcould not have put into words, not even into thought. And this young manwas over on that side. Oh, all Detroit must lie between, from the riverout to the farms! Could she ever cross the great gulf? What was it madethe difference--education? Then she would study more assiduously thanever. Was this why Monsieur St. Armand was so earnest about her trying?

She glanced down at her little brown hand. Oh, how soft and warm hislips had been, what a gentle touch! She pressed her own lips to it, anda delicious sensation sped through her small body. 

"What art thou dreaming about, Jeanne? Come to thy dinner. "

She glanced up with a smile. In a vague way she had known before therewere many things Pani could not understand; now she felt the keen, far-reaching difference between them, between her and the De Bers, andLouis Marsac, and all the people she had ever known. But her mother, whocould tell most about her, was dead. 

It was not possible for a glad young thing to keep in a strained moodthat would have no answering comprehension, and Jeanne's love of naturewas so overwhelming. Then the autumn at the West was so glowing, sofull of richness that it stirred her immeasurably. She could hardlyendure the confinement on some days. 

"What makes you so restless?" asked the master one noon when he wasdismissing some scholars kept in until their slow wits had masteredtheir tasks. She, too, had been inattentive and willful. 

"I am part of the woods to-day, a chipmunk running about, a cricketwhich dares not chirp, " and she glanced up into the stern eyes with amerry light, "a grasshopper who takes long strides, a bee who goesbuzzing, a glad, gay bird who says to his mate, 'Come, let us go to theunknown land and spend a winter in idleness, with no nest to build, nohungry, crying babies to feed, nothing but just to swing in the treesand laugh with the sunshine. '"

"Thou art a queer child. Come, say thy lesson well and we will spend thewhole afternoon in the woods. Thou shalt consort with thy brethren thebirds, for thou art brimming over. "

The others were dismissed with some added punishment. The master tookout his luncheon. He was not overpaid, he had no family and lived byhimself, sleeping in the loft over the school. 

"Oh, come home with me!" the child cried. "Pani's cakes of maize are sogood, and no one cooks fish with such a taste and smell. It would makeone rise in the middle of the night. "

"Will the tall Indian woman give me a welcome?"

"Oh, Pani likes whomever I like;" with gay assurance. 

"And dost thou like me, child?"

"Yes, yes. " She caught his hand in both of hers. "Sometimes you arecross and make ugly frowns, and often I pity the poor children you beat, but I know, too, they deserve it. And you speak so sharp! I used to jumpwhen I heard it, but now I only give a little start, and sometimes justsmile within, lest the children should see it and be worse. It is aqueer little laugh that runs down inside of one. Come, Pani will bewaiting. "

She took his hand as they picked their way through the narrow streets, having to turn out now and then for a loaded wheelbarrow, or two mencarrying a big plank on their shoulders, or a heavy burthen, one at eachend. For there were some streets not even a wagon and two horses couldget through. 

To the master's surprise Pani did not even seem put out as Jeanneexplained the waiting. Had fish toasted before the coals ever tasted sogood? The sagamite he had learned to tolerate, but the maize cakes wereso excellent it seemed as if he could never get enough of them. 

The golden October sun lay warm everywhere and was tinting the hills andforests with richness that glowed and glinted as if full of life. Afar, one could see the shine of the river, the distant lake, the undulationswhere the tall trees did not cut it off. Crows were chattering andscolding. A great flock of wild geese passed over with their hoarse, mysterious cry, and shaped like two immense wings each side of theirleader. 

"Now you shall tell me about the other countries where you have been, "and Jeanne dropped on the soft turf, motioning him to be seated. 

In all his journeying through the eastern part of the now UnitedColonies, he thought he had never seen a fairer sight than this. Itwarmed and cheered his old heart. And sure he had never had a moreenraptured listener. 

But in a brief while the glory of wood and field was gone. The shriveledleaves were blown from the trees by the fierce gusts. The beeches stoodlike bare, trembling ghosts, the pines and firs with their rough darktops were like great Indian wigwams and were enough to terrify thebeholder. Sharp, shrill cries at night of fox and wolf, the rustle ofthe deer and the slow, clumsy tread of the bear, the parties of Indiansdrawing nearer civilization, braves who had roamed all summer inidleness returning to patient squaws, told of the approach of winter. 

New pickets were set about barns and houses, and coverings of skin madeadded warmth. The small flocks were carefully sheltered from maraudingIndians. Doors and windows were hung with curtains of deer skins, floorswere covered with buffalo or bear hide, and winter garments were broughtout. Even inside the palisade one could see a great change in appareland adornment. The booths were no longer invitingly open, but here andthere were inns and places of evening resort where the air was not onlyenough to stifle one, but so blue with smoke you could hardly see yourneighbor's face. No merry parties sang songs upon the river nor went upto the lake in picnic fashion. 

Still there was no lack of hearty good cheer. On the farms one andanother gave a dance to celebrate some special occasion. There washusking corn and shelling it, there were meats and fish to be salted, some of it dried, for now the inhabitants within and without knew thatwinter was long and cold. 

They had sincerely mourned General Wayne. A new commandant had beensent, but the general government was poor and deeply in debt and therewere many vexed questions to settle. So old Detroit changed very littleunder the new régime. There was some delightful social life around theolder or, rather, more aristocratic part of the town, where severaltitled English people still remained. Fortnightly balls were given, dinners, small social dances, for in that time dancing was the amusementof the young as card playing was of the older ones. 

Then came days of whirling, blinding snow when one could hardly stirout, succeeded by sunshine of such brilliance that Detroit seemed adazzle of gems. Parties had merry games of snowballing, there weresledging, swift traveling on skates and snowshoes, and if the days wereshort the long evenings were full of good cheer, though many a gruesomestory was told of Pontiac's time, and the many evil times before that, and of the heroic explorers and the brave fathers who had gone to plantthe cross and the lilies of France in the wilderness. 

Jeanne wondered that she should care so little for the defection of theDe Bers. Pierre passed her with a sullen nod when he met her face toface and sometimes did not notice her at all. Marie was very importantwhen she recovered from the surprise that a man should want to marryher, and that she should be the first of Delisse Graumont's maids tomarry, she who was the youngest of them all. 

"I had a beau in my cup at the tea drinking, and he was holding out hishand, which was a sign that he would come soon. And, Rose, I mean tohave a tea drinking. I hope you will get the beau. "

"I am in no hurry, " and Rose tossed her pretty head. 

Marie and her mother went down to the Beeson house to see whatplenishings were needed. It was below the inclosure, quite a farm, inthe new part running down to the river, where there was a dock and arough sort of basin, quite a boat yard, for Antoine Beeson had not yetaspired to anything very grand in ship building. They pulled out thegreat fur rugs and hangings and put the one up and the other down, andAntoine coming in was so delighted with the homelikeness that he caughthis betrothed about the waist and whirled her round and round. 

"Really, I think some day I shall learn to dance, " and he gave hisbroad, hearty laugh that Marie had grown quite accustomed to. 

Madame De Ber looked amazed and severe. 

CHAPTER IX. 

CHRISTMAS AND A CONFESSION. 

Ah, how the bells rang out on Christmas morning! A soft, muffled soundcoming through the roofs of white snow that looked like peaked armytents, the old Latin melody that had rejoiced many a heart and carriedthe good news round the world. 

It was still dark when Jeanne heard Pani stirring, and she sprang out ofbed. 

"I am going to church with you, Pani, " she declared in a tone that leftno demur. 

"Ah, child, if thou hadst listened to the good father and beenconfirmed, then thou mightst have partaken of the mass. "

Jeanne almost wished she had. But the schoolmaster had strengthened heropposition, or rather her dread, a little, quite unknowingly, and yet hehad given her more reverence and a longing for real faith. 

"But I shall be thinking of the shepherds and the glad tidings. Iwatched the stars last night, they were so beautiful. 'And they came andstood over the place, ' the schoolmaster read it to me. That was way overthe other side of the world, Pani. "

The Indian woman shook her head. She was afraid of this strangeknowledge, and she had a vague idea that it must have happened here inDetroit, since the Christ was born anew every year. 

The stars were not all gone out of the sky. The crisp snow crunchedunder their feet, although the moccasins were soft and warm; andeverybody was muffled in furs, even to hoods and pointed caps. Somepeople were carrying lanterns, but they could find their way, straightalong St. Anne's street. The bell kept on until they stood in the churchporch. 

"Thou wilt sit here, child. "

Jeanne made no protest. She rather liked being hidden here in thedarkness. 

There were the De Bers, then Marie and her lover, then Rose and Pierre. How much did dull Pierre believe and understand? The master's faithseemed simpler to her. 

A little later was the regular Christmas service with the altar deckedin white and gold and the two fathers in their beautiful robes ofrejoicing, the candlesticks that had been sent from France a centurybefore, burnished to their brightest and the candles lighted. Behind thescreen the sisters and the children sang hymns, and some in thecongregation joined, though the men were much more at home in the musicof the violins and in the jollity. 

Jeanne felt strangely serious, and half wished she was among thechildren. It was the fear of having to become a nun that deterred her. She could not understand how Berthê Campeau could leave her ailingmother and go to Montreal for religion's sake. Madame Campeau was notable to stand the journey even if she had wanted to go, but she and hersister had had some differences, and, since Berthê would go, her son'swife had kindly offered to care for her. 

"And what there is left thou shalt have, Catherine, " she said to herdaughter-in-law. "None of my money shall go to Montreal. It would beonly such a little while for Berthê to wait. I cannot last long. "

So she had said for three years and Berthê had grown tired of waiting. Her imagination fed on the life of devotion and exaltation that her auntwrote about. 

At noon Marie De Ber was married. She shivered a little in her whitegown, for the church was cold. Her veil fell all over her and no onecould see whether her face was joyful or not. Truth to tell, she wassadly frightened, but everybody was merry, and her husband wrapped herin a fur cloak and packed her in his sledge. A procession followed, mostof them on foot, for there was to be a great dinner at Tony Beeson's. 

Then, although the morning had been so lovely, the sky clouded over withleaden gray and the wind came in great sullen gusts from Lake Huron. Youcould hear it miles away, a fierce roar such as the droves of bisonsmade, as if they were breaking in at your very door. Pani hung thebearskin against the door and let down the fur curtains over thewindows. There was a bright log fire and Jeanne curled up on one side ina wolfskin, resting her head on a cushion of cedar twigs that gave out apleasant fragrance. Pani sat quietly on the other side. There was nolight but the blaze. Neither was the Indian woman used to the smallindustries some of the French took up when they had passed girlhood. Ina slow, phlegmatic fashion she used to go over her past life, raising upfrom their graves, as it were, Madame de Longueil, Madame Bellestre, andthen Monsieur, though he never came from the shadowy grave, but a gardenthat bore strange fruit, and where it was summer all the year round. Shehad the gift of obedient faith, so she was a good Catholic, as far asher own soul was concerned, but her duty toward the child often troubledher. 

Jeanne watched the blaze in a strange mood, her heart hot and angry atone moment, proud and indifferent at the next. She said a dozen times aday to herself that she didn't care a dead leaf for Marie, who had grownso consequential and haughty, and Rose, who was full of her ownpleasure. It seemed as if other children had dropped out as well, butthen in this cold weather she could not run out to the farms or lead agroup of eager young people to see her do amazing feats. For she couldwalk out on the limb of a tree and laugh while it swung up and down withher weight, and then catch the limb of the next tree and fling herselfover, amid their shouts. No boy dared climb higher. She had caughtlittle owls who blinked at her with yellow eyes, but she always put themback in the trees again. 

"You wouldn't like to be carried away by fierce Indians, " she said whenthe children begged they might keep them. "They like their homes andtheir mothers. "

"As if an owl could tell who its mother was!" laughed a boydisdainfully. 

She had hardly known the feeling of loneliness. What did she do lastwinter, she wondered? O yes, she played with the De Ber children, andthere were the Pallents, whom she seldom went to visit now, they seemedso very ignorant. Ah--if it would come summer again!

"For the trees and the flowers and the birds are better than mostpeople, " she ruminated. It must be because everybody had gone out of herlife that it appeared wide and strange. After all she did not care forthe De Bers and yet it seemed as if she had been stabbed to the heart. Pierre and Marie had pretended to care so much for her. Then, in spiteof her sadness, she laughed. 

"What is it amuses thee so, little one?" asked the Indian woman. 

"I am not old enough to have a lover, Pani, am I?" and she looked out ofher furry wrap. 

"No, child, no. What folly! Marie's wedding has set thee astray. "

"And Pierre is a slow, stupid fellow. "

"Pierre would be no match for thee, and I doubt if the De Bers wouldcountenance such a thing if he were older. That is nonsense. "

"Pierre asked me to be his wife. He said twice that he wanted to marryme--at the raising of the flag, when we were on the water, and oneSunday in the autumn. I am not as old as Rose De Ber, even, so Marieneed not feel set upon a pinnacle because Tony Beeson marries her whenshe is barely fifteen. "

"Jeanne!" Pani's tone was horror stricken. "And it will make no end oftrouble. Madame De Ber is none too pleasant now. "

"It will make no trouble. I said 'no' and 'no' and 'no, ' until it waslike this mighty wind rushing through the forest, and he was very angry. So I should not go to the De Bers any more. And, Pani, if I had a fatherwho would make me marry him when I was older, I should go and throwmyself into the Strait. "

"His father sends him up in the fur country in the spring. "

"What makes people run crazy when weddings are talked of? But if Iwanted to hold my head high and boast--"

"Oh, child, you could not be so silly!"

"No, Pani. And I shall be glad to have him go away. I do not want anylovers. "

The woman was utterly amazed, and then consoled herself with the thoughtthat it was merely child's play. They both lapsed into silence again. But Jeanne's thoughts ran on. There was Louis Marsac. What if hereturned next summer and tormented her? A perplexing mood, half pride, half disgust, filled her, and a serious elation at her own power whichthrills young feminine things when they first discover it; as well asthe shrinking into a new self-appropriation that thrusts out all suchmatters. But she did not laugh over Louis Marsac. She felt afraid ofhim, and she scrubbed her mouth where he had once kissed it. 

There was another kiss on her hand. She held it up in the firelight. Ah, if she had a father like M. St. Armand, and a brother like the youngman!

She was seized with an awful pang as if a swift, dark current wasbearing her away from every one but Pani. Why had her father and motherbeen wrenched out of her life? She had seen a plant or a young shrubswept out of its rightful place and tossed to and fro until somestronger wave threw it upon the sandy edge, to droop and die. Was shelike that? Where had she been torn from? She had been thrown into Pani'slap. She had never minded the little jeers before when the children hadcalled her a wild Indian. Was she nobody's child?

She had an impulse to jump about and storm around the room, to drag somesecret out of Pani, to grasp the world in her small hands and compel itto disclose its knowledge. She looked steadily into the red fire and herheart seemed bursting with the breath that could not find an outlet. 

The bells began to ring again. "Come, " "come, " they said. Had she betternot go to the sisters and live with them? The Church would be father andmother. 

She bent down her head and cried very softly, for it seemed as if alljoy had gone out of her life. Pani fell asleep and snored. 

But the next morning the world was lovelier than ever with the newfallen snow. Men were shoveling it away from doorways and stamping itdown in the streets with their great boots, the soles being wooden andthe legs of fur. And they snowballed each other. The children joined androlled in the snow. Now and then a daring young fellow caught ademoiselle and rubbed roses into her cheeks. 

All the rest of the week was given over to holiday life. There weregreat doings at the Citadel and in some of the grand houses. There weredances and dinners, and weddings so brilliant that Marie De Ber's wasonly a little rushlight in comparison. 

The master went down to Marietta for a visit. Jeanne seemed like apendulum swinging this way and that. She was lonely and miserable. Oneday the Church seemed a refuge, the next she shrank with a sort ofterror and longed for spring, as a drowning man longs for everythingthat promises succor. 

One morning Monsieur Loisel, the notary, came in with a grave and solemnmien. 

"I have news for thee, Pani and Mam'selle, a great word of sorrow, andit grieves me to be the bearer of it. Yet the good Lord has a right tohis own, for I cannot doubt but that Madame Bellestre's intercession hasbeen of some avail. And Monsieur Bellestre was an upright, honorable, kindly man. "

"Monsieur Bellestre is dead, " said Pani with the shock of a suddenrevelation. 

Jeanne stood motionless. Then he could never come back! And, oh, what ifMonsieur St. Armand never came back!

"Yes. Heaven rest his soul, say I, and so does the good Father Rameau. For his gift to the Church seems an act of faith. "

"And Jeanne?" inquired the woman tremblingly. 

"It is about the child I have come to talk. Monsieur Bellestre has madesome provision for her, queerly worded, too. "

"Oh, he does not take her away from me!" cried the foster mother inanguish. 

"No. He had some strange notions not in accord with the Church, we allknow, that liberty to follow one's opinion is a good thing. It is notalways so in worldly affairs even, but of late years it has come largelyin vogue in religious matters. And here is the part of his will thatpertains to her. You would not understand the preamble, so I will tellit in plain words. To you, Pani, is given the house and a sum of moneyeach year. To the child is left a yearly portion until she is sixteen, then, if she becomes a Catholic and chooses the lot of a sister, itceases. Otherwise it is continued until she is married, when she isgiven a sum for a dowry. And at your death your income reverts to theBellestre estate. "

"Monsieur Bellestre did not want me to become a nun, then?"

Jeanne asked the question gravely as a woman. 

"It seems not, Mam'selle. He thinks some one may come to claim you, butthat is hardly probable after all these years;" and there was a drynessin the notary's tone. "You are to be educated, but I think the sistersknow better what is needful for a girl. There are no restrictions, however. I am to see that the will is carried out, and the new court isto appoint what is called a guardian. The money is to be sent to meevery six months. It surely is a great shame Mam'selle has no malerelatives. "

"Shall we have to change, Monsieur?" asked Pani with a dread in hervoice. 

"Oh, no; unless Mam'selle should--" he looked questioningly at the girl. 

"I shall never leave Pani. " She came and stretching up clasped her armsabout the woman's neck as she had in her babyhood. "And I like to go toschool to the master. "

"M. Bellestre counts this way, that you were three years old when youcame to Detroit. That was nine years ago. And that you are twelve now. So there are four years--"

"It looks a long while, but the past does not seem so. Why, last winteris like the turn of your hand, " and she turned hers over with a smile. 

"Many things may happen in four years. " No doubt she would have a loverand marry. "Let me go over it again. "

They both listened, Jeanne wide-eyed, Pani nodding her head slowly. 

"I must tell you that M. Bellestre left fifty pounds to Father Rameaufor any purpose he considered best. And now the court will take it inhand, but these new American courts are all in confusion and very slow. Still, as there is to be no change, and the money will come through meas before, why, there will be no trouble. "

Pani nodded again but made no comment. She could hardly settle her mindto the fact of Monsieur Bellestre's death. 

"Allow me to congratulate you, Mam'selle, on having so sincere afriend. " M. Loisel held out his hand. 

"If he had but come back! I do not care for the money. "

"Still, money is a very good thing. Well, we will have several moretalks about this. Adieu, Mam'selle. My business is ended at present. "

He bowed politely as he went out; but he thought, "It is a crazy thingleaving her to the care of that old Indian woman. Surely he could nothave distrusted Father Rameau? And though the good father is quitesure--well, it does not do for anyone to be too sure in this world. "

Father Rameau came that very afternoon and had a long talk with Pani. Hedid not quite understand why M. Bellestre should be so opposed to theChurch taking charge of the child, since she was not in the hands of anyrelative. But he had promised Pani she should not be separated from her, indeed, no one had a better right to her, he felt. 

M. Bellestre's family were strong Huguenots, and had been made to sufferseverely for their faith in Old France, and not a little in the newcountry. He had not cordially loved the English, but he felt that thelarger liberty had been better for the settlement, and that educationwas the foe to superstition and bigotry, as well as ignorance. While headmitted to himself, and frankly to the town, the many excellencies ofthe priest, it was the system, that held the people in bondage anddenied enlightenment, that he protested against. It was with great painthat he had discovered his wife's gradual absorption, but knowing deathwas at hand he could not deny her last request. But the child shouldchoose for herself, and, if under Pani's influence she should become aCatholic, he would not demur. From time to time he had accounts from M. Loisel, and he had been pleased with the desire of the child foreducation. She should have that satisfaction. 

And now spring was coming again. The sense of freedom and rejoicingbroke out anew in Jeanne, but she found herself restrained by somecurious power that was finer than mere propriety. She was growing olderand knowledge enlarged her thoughts and feelings, stirred a strangesomething within her that was ambition, though she knew it not; she hadnot grown accustomed to the names of qualities. 

The master was taking great pride in her, and gave her the fewadvantages within his reach. Detroit was being slowly remodeled, but itwas discouraging work, since the French settlers were satisfied withtheir own ways, and looked with suspicion on improvements even in manysimple devices for farming. 

With the fur season the town was in wild confusion and holiday jollityprevailed. There were Indians with packs; and the old race of the_coureurs des bois_, who were still picturesque with their red sashesand jaunty habiliments. They were wild men of the woods, who had thrownoff the restraints of civilized life and who hunted as much for thepleasure as the profit. They could live in a wigwam, they could joinIndian dances, they were brave, hardy, but in some instances savage asthe Indians themselves and quite as lawless. A century ago they had beenthe pioneers of the fur hunters, with many a courageous explorer amongthem. The newer organizations of the fur companies had curtailed theirpower and their numbers had dwindled, but they kept up their wildhabits, and this was the carouse of the whole year. 

It was a busy season. There was great chaffering, disputing, and not afew fights, though guards were detailed along the river front to keepthe peace as far as was possible. Boats were being loaded for Montreal, cargoes to be shipped down the Hudson and from thence abroad, with minkand otter and beaver, beautiful fox furs, white wolf and occasionally awhite bear skin that dealers would quarrel about. 

Then the stores of provisions to be sent back to the trappers andhunters, the clothes and blankets and trinkets for the Indians, keptshopkeepers busy day and night, and poured money into their coffers. Newmen were going out, --to an adventurous young fellow this seemed thegreat opportunity of his life. 

Jeanne Angelot's fortune had been noised abroad somewhat, though shepaid little attention to it even in her thoughts. But she was a girlwith a dowry now, and she was not only growing tall but strangely prettyas well. Her skin was fairer, her hair, which still fell in loosecurls, was kept in better order. Coif she would not wear, but sometimesshe tied a bright kerchief under her chin and looked bewitching. 

French mothers of sons were never averse to a dowry, although men wereso in want of wives that few went begging for husbands. Women paused tochat with Pani and make kindly inquiries about her charge. Even MadameDe Ber softened. She was opposed to Pierre's going north with thehunters, but he was so eager and his father considered it a good thing. And now he was a strapping big fellow, taller than his father, slowlyshaping up into manhood. 

"Thou hast not been to visit Marie?" she said one day on meeting Jeanneface to face. "She has spoken of it. Last year you were such a child, but now you have quite grown and will be companionable. All the girlshave visited her. Her husband is most excellent. "

"I have been busy with lessons, " said Jeanne with some embarrassment. Then, with a little pride--"Marie dropped me, and if I were not to bewelcome--"

"Chut! chut! Marie had to put on a little dignity. A child like youshould bear no malice. "

"But--she sent me no invitation. "

"Then I must chide her. And it will be pleasant down there in thesummer. Do you know that Pierre goes back with the hunters?"

"I have heard--yes. "

"It is not my wish, but if he can make money in his youth so much thebetter. And the others are growing up to fill his place. Good day tothee, Jeanne. "

That noon Madame De Ber said to her husband, "Jeanne Angelot improvesgreatly. Perhaps the school will do her no harm. She is rather sharpwith her replies, but she always had a saucy tongue. A girl needs amother to correct her, and Pani spoils her. "

"She will have quite a dowry, I have heard, " remarked her husband. 

Pierre flushed a little at this pleasant mention of her name. If Jeanneonly walked down in the town like some of the girls! If Rose might askher to go!

But Rose did not dare, and then there was Martin ready to waylay her. Three were awkward when you liked best to have a young man to yourself. 

How many times Pierre had watched her unseen, her lithe figure thatseemed always atilt even when wrapped in furs, and her starry eyesgleaming out of her fur hood. Not even Rose could compare with her inthat curious daintiness, though Pierre would have been at loss todescribe it, since his vocabulary was limited, but he felt it in everyslow beating pulse. He had resolved to speak, but she never gave him theopportunity. She flashed by him as if she had never known him. 

But he must say good-by to her. There was Madelon Dace, who hadquarreled with her lover and gone to a dance with some one else and heldher head high, never looking to the right or the left, and then assuddenly melted into sweetness and they would be married. Yet Madelonhad said to his sister Marie, "I will never speak to him, never!" Whathad he done to offend Jeanne so deeply? Girls were not usually angeredat a man falling in love with them. 

So Pierre's pack was made up. In the autumn they could send again. Hetook tea the last time with Marie. The boats were all ready to start upthe Huron. 

He went boldly to the little cottage and said courageously to Pani, though his heart seemed to quake almost down to his feet, "I am goingaway at noon. I have come to say good-by to Jeanne--and to you, " put inas an afterthought. 

"What a great fellow you are, Pierre! I wish you good luck. Jeanne--"

Jeanne had almost forgotten her childish anger, and the love making wassilly, even in remembrance. 

"Surely I wish thee good luck, Pierre, " she said formally, with a smilenot too warm about her rosy lips. "And a fortunate hunting and trading. "

"A safe return, Mam'selle, put that in, " he pleaded. 

"A safe return. "

Then they shook hands and he went his way, thinking with great comfortthat she had not flouted him. 

It was quite a great thing to see the boats go out. Sweethearts andwives congregated on the wharves. Some few brave women went with theirhusbands. Other ships were setting out for Montreal well loaded, and oneor two were carrying a gay lot of passengers. 

After a few weeks, quiet returned, the streets were no longer crowdedand the noisy reveling was over for a while. The farmers were busy outof doors, cattle were lowing, chanticleer rang out his call to work inthe early morn, and busy hens were caroling in cheerful if unmusicalvoices. Trees budded into a beautiful haze and then sprang into leaf, into bloom. The rough social hilarity was over for a while. 

A few of the emigrant farmers laughed at the clumsy, wasteful Frenchmethods and tried their own, which were laughed at in turn, but therewas little disputing. 

Easter had fallen early and it had been cold, but Whitsuntide madeamends, and was, if anything, a greater festival. For a processionformed at St. Anne's, young girls in gala attire, smart, middle-agedwomen with new caps and kerchiefs, husbands and sons, and not a fewchildren, and marched out of the Pontiac gate, as it was called inremembrance of the long siege. Forty years before Jacques Campeau hadbuilt the first little outside chapel on his farm, which had a greatstretch of ground. The air was full of the fragrance of fruit blossomsand hardly needed incense. Ah, how beautiful it was in a sort ofpastoral simplicity! And after saying mass, Father Frechette blessed andprayed for fertile fields and good crops and generous hearts that tithesmight not be withheld, and the faithful rewarded. Then they went to theFulcher farm, where, in a chapel not much more than a shrine, theservice was again said with the people kneeling around in the grass. Thefarmers and good housewives placed more faith in this than in themethods of the newcomers with their American wisdom. But it was apleasing service. The procession changed about a little, --the young menwalking with the demoiselles and whispering in their listening ears. 

Jeanne was with them. Madame De Ber was quite gracious, and Marie Beesonsingled her out. It had been a cold winter and a backward spring andMarie had not gone anywhere. Tony was so exigent, and she laughed andbridled. It was a very happy thing to be married and have some one carefor you. And soon she would give a tea drinking and she would send forJeanne, who must be sure to come. 

But Jeanne had a strange, dreary feeling. She seemed between everything, no longer a child and not a woman, not a part of the Church, not a partof anything. She felt afraid of the future. Oh, what was her share ofthe bright, beautiful world?

CHAPTER X. 

BLOOMS OF THE MAY. 

The spring came in with a quickening glory. A fortnight ago the snow waseverywhere, the skaters were still out on the streams, the young fellowshaving rough snowballing matches, then suddenly one morning the whiteblanket turned a faint, sickly, soft gray, and withered. The pallidskies grew blue, the brown earth showed in patches, there were cheerfulsounds from the long-housed animals, rivulets were all afloat running inhaste to swell the streams, and from thence to the river and the lakes. 

The tiny rings of fir and juniper brightened, the pine branches swelledwith great furry buds, bursting open into pale green tassels that movedwith every breath of wind. The hemlocks shot out feathery fronds, thespruce spikes of bluish green, the maples shook around red blossoms andthen uncurled tiny leaves. The hickories budded in a strange, paleyellow, but the oaks stood sturdy with some of the winter's brown leavesclinging to them. 

The long farms outside the stockade awoke to new vigor as well. Everybody set to work, for the summer heats would soon be upon them, andthe season was short. There was a stir in the town proper, as well. 

And now, at mid-May, when some of the crops were in, there was a day ofmerrymaking, beginning with a procession and a blessing of the fields, and then the fiddles were taken down, for the hard work lasting wellinto the evening made both men and women tired enough to go to bedearly, when their morning began in the twilight. 

The orchards were abloom and sweetened all the air. The evergreens sentout a resinous, pungent fragrance, the grass was odorous with the nightdews. The maypole was raised anew, for generally the winter windsblowing fiercely over from the great western lake demolished it, thoughthey always let it stand as long as it would, and in the autumn againdanced about it. It had been the old French symbol of welcome and goodwishes to their Seigneurs, as well as to the spring. And now it was alegend of past things and a merrymaking. 

The pole had bunches of flowers tied here and there, and long streamersthat it was fun to jerk from some one's hand and let the wind blow themaway. Girls and youths did this to rivals, with mischievous laughter. 

The habitans were in their holiday garb, which had hardly changed fortwo hundred years except when it was put by for winter furs, clean bluetunics, scarlet caps and sashes, deerskin breeches trimmed with yellowor brown fringe, sometimes both, leggings and moccasins with beadembroidery and brightly dyed threads. 

There were shopkeepers, too, there were boatmen and Indians, and some ofthe quality with their wives in satin and lace and gay brocades. Soldiers as well in their military gear, and officers in buff and bluewith cocked hats and pompons. 

The French girls had put on their holiday attire and some had festooneda light skirt over one of cloth and placed in it a bright bow. Gownsthat were family heirlooms, never seeing day except on some festiveoccasion, strings of beads, belts studded with wampum shells, high-heeled shoes with a great buckle or bow, but not as easy to dancein as moccasins. 

Two years had brought more changes to the individual, or rather theyounger part of the community, than to the town. A few new houses hadbeen built, many old ones repaired and enlarged a little. The streetswere still narrow and many of them winding about. The greatest signs oflife were at the river's edge. The newer American emigrant came for landand secured it outside. Every week some of the better class English whowere not in the fur trade went to Quebec or Montreal to be under theirown rulers. 

There was not an entire feeling of security. Since Pontiac there hadbeen no great Indian leader, but many subordinate chiefs who were verysore over the treaties. There was an Indian prophet, twin brother to thechief Tecumseh who afterward led his people to a bloody war, who usedhis rude eloquence to unite the warring tribes in one nation by wildvisions he foresaw of their greatness. 

Marauding tribes still harassed parties of travelers, but about Detroitthey were peaceable; and many joined in the festivities of a day likethis. While as farm laborers they were of little worth, they were oftenuseful at the wharves, and as boatmen. 

Two years had brought a strange, new life to Jeanne, so imperceptiblythat she was now a puzzle to herself. The child had disappeared, thegrowing girl she hardly knew. The wild feats that had once been theadmiration of the children pleased her no longer. The children had grownas well. The boys tilled the fields with their fathers, worked in shopsor on the docks, or were employed about the Fort. Some few, smitten withmilitary ardor, were in training for future soldiers. The field forgirls had grown wider. Beside the household employments there werespinning and sewing. The Indian women had made a coarse kind of laceworked with beads that the French maidens improved upon and disposed ofto the better class. Or the more hoydenish ones delighted to work in thefields with their brothers, enjoying the outdoor life. 

For a year Jeanne had kept on with her master, though at spring a wildimpulse of liberty threatened to sweep her from her moorings. 

"Why do I feel so?" she inquired almost fiercely of the master. "Something stifles me! Then I wish I had been made a bird to fly up andup until I had left the earth. Oh, what glorious thing is in the bird'smind when he can look into the very heavens, soaring out of sight?"

"There is nothing in the bird's mind, except to find a mate, build anest and rear some young; to feed them until they can care forthemselves, and, though there is much romance about the mother bird, they are always eager to get rid of their offspring. He sings becauseGod has given him a song, his language. But he has no thought ofheaven. "

"Oh, he must have!" she cried passionately. 

The master studied her. 

"Art thou ready to die, to go out of the world, to be put into the darkground?"

"Oh, no! no!" Jeanne shuddered. "It is because I like to live, tobreathe the sweet air, to run over the grass, to linger about the woodsand hear all the voices. The pines have one tone, the hemlocks andspruces another, and the soft swish of the larches is like the lasttender notes of some of the hymns I sing with the sisters occasionally. And the sun is so glorious! He clasps the baby leaves in his unseenhands and they grow, and he makes the blades of grass to dance for veryjoy. I catch him in my hands, too; I steep my face in the floods ofgolden light and all the air is full of stars. Oh, no, I would not, could not die! I would like to live forever. Even Pani is in no haste todie. "

"Thou art a strange child, surely. I have read of some such in books. And I wonder that the heaven of the nuns does not take more hold ofthee. "

"But I do not like the black gowns, and the coifs so close over theirears, and the little rooms in which one is buried alive. For it seemslike dying before one's time, like being half dead in a gay, glad world. Did not God give it to us to enjoy?"

The master nodded. He wondered when she was in these strange moods. Andhe noticed that the mad pranks grew less, that there were days when shestudied like a soul possessed, and paid little heed to those about her. 

But when a foreign letter with a great waxen seal came to her one dayher delight knew no bounds. It was not a noisy joy, however. 

"Let us go out under the oak, " she said to Pani. 

The children were playing about. Wenonah looked up from her work andsmiled. 

"No, children, " said Jeanne with a wave of the hand, "I cannot have younow. You may come to-morrow. This afternoon is all mine. "

It was a pleasant, grave, fatherly letter. M. St. Armand had found muchto do, and presently he would go to England. Laurent was at a schoolwhere he should leave him for a year. 

"Listen, " said Jeanne when they were both seated on the short turf thatwas half moss, "a grown man at school--is it not funny?" and she laughedgayly. 

"But there are young men sent to Quebec and Montreal, and to thatsouthern town, New York. And young women, too. But I hope thou wilt knowenough, Jeanne, without all this journeying. "

Pani studied her with great perplexity. 

"But he wants me to know many things--as if I were a rich girl! I knowmy English quite well and can read in it. And, Pani, how wonderful thata letter can talk as if one were beside you!"

She read it over and over. Some words she wondered at. The great citywith its handsome churches and gardens and walks and palaces, howbeautiful it must be! It was remarkable that she had no longing, enviousfeeling. She was so full of delight there was no room. 

They sat still a long while. She patted the thin, brown hand, then laidher soft cheek on it or made a cradle of it for her chin. 

"Pani, " she said at length, "how splendid it would be to have M. St. Armand for one's father! I have never cared for any girl's father, butM. St. Armand would be gentle and kind. I think, too, he could smoothaway all the sort of cobweb things that haunt one's brain and thethoughts you cannot make take any shape but go floating like drifts inthe sky, until you are lost in the clouds. "

Pani looked over toward the river. Like the master, the child's strangethoughts puzzled her, but she was afraid they were wrong. The masterwished that she could be translated to some wider living. 

It took Jeanne several days to answer her letter, but every hour was oneof exultant joy. It gave her hardly less delight than the reception ofhis. Then it was to be sent to New York by Monsieur Fleury, who haddealings back and forth. 

There had been a great wedding at the Fleury house. Madelon had marrieda titled French gentleman and gone to Montreal. 

"Oh!" cried Jeanne to Monsieur Fleury, "you will be very careful and notlet it get lost. I took so much pains with it. And when it gets to NewYork--"

"A ship takes it to France. See, child, there is all this bundle to go, and there are many valuable papers in it. Do not fear;" and he smiled. "But what has M. St. Armand to say to you?"

"Oh, many things about what I should learn. I have already studied muchthat he asked me to, and he will be very glad to hear that. "

M. Fleury smiled indulgently, and Jeanne with a proud step went down thepaved walk bordered with flowers, a great innovation for that time. Buthis wife voiced his thoughts when she said:--

"Do you not think it rather foolish that Monsieur St. Armand shouldtrouble his head about a child like that? No one knows to what sort ofpeople she has belonged. And she will marry some habitan who careslittle whether she can write a letter or not. "

"She will have quite a dowry. She ought to marry well. A little learningwill not hurt her. "

"M. Bellestre must have known more than he confessed, " with suspicion inher voice. 

M. Fleury nodded assentingly. 

Jeanne had been quite taken into Madame De Ber's good graces again. Themoney had worked wonders with her, only she did not see the need of itbeing spent upon an education. There was Pierre, who would be about theright age, but would she want Pierre to have that kind of a wife?

Rose and Jeanne became very neighborly. Marie was a happy, commonplacewife, who really adored her rough husband, and was always extollinghim. He had never learned to dance, but he was a swift skater, and couldrow with anybody in a match. Then there was a little son, not at all toJeanne's liking, for he had a wide mouth and no nose to speak of. 

"He is not as pretty as Aurel, " she said. 

"He will grow prettier, " returned the proud grandmother, sharply. 

That autumn the old schoolmaster did not come back. Some other schoolshad been started. M. Loisel sounded his charge as to whether she wouldnot go to Montreal to school, but she decisively declined. 

And now another spring had come, and Jeanne was a tall girl, but shewould not put up her hair nor wear a coif. Father Rameau had been senton a mission to St. Ignace. The new priest that came did not agree verywell with Father Gilbert. He wanted to establish some Ursulines on amuch stricter plan than the few sisters had been accustomed to, andthere were bickerings and strained feelings. Beside, the Protestantswere making some headway in the town. 

"It is not to be wondered at, " said the new priest to many of his flock. "One could hardly tell what you are. There must be better regulations. "

"But we pay our tithes regularly. And Father Rameau--"

"I am tired of Father Rameau!" said the priest angrily. "And thefiddling and the dancing!"

"I do not like the quarreling, " commented Jeanne. "And in the littlechapel they all agree. They worship God, and not the Saints or theVirgin. "

"But the Virgin was a woman and is tender to us, and will intercede forus, " interposed Pani. 

Jeanne went to the English school that winter but the children were notmuch to her mind. 

And now it was May, and Jeanne suddenly decided that she was tired ofschool. 

"Pierre has come home!" almost shouted Rose to the two sitting in thedoorway. "And he is a big man with a heavy voice, and, would youbelieve, he fairly lifted mother off her feet, and she tried to box hisears, but could not, and we all laughed so. He will be at the Fêteto-morrow. "

"Come, Pani, " Jeanne said quite early, "we will hunt for some flowers. Susette Mass said we were to bring as many as we could. "

"But--there will be the procession and the blessings--"

"And you will like that. Then we can be first to put some flowers on theshrines, maybe. "

That won Pani. So together they went. At the edge of the wood wildflowers had begun to bloom, and they gathered handfuls. Little mapletrees just coming up had four tiny red leaves that looked like ablossom. 

There under a great birch tree was a small wooden temple with aweather-beaten cross on top, and on a shelf inside, raised a little fromthe ground, stood a plaster cast of the Virgin. Jeanne sprinkled thewhite blossoms of the wild strawberry all around. Pani knelt and said alittle prayer. 

Susette Mass ran to meet them. 

"Oh, how early you are!" she cried. "And how beautiful! Where did youfind so many flowers? Some must go to the chapel. "

"There will be plenty to give to the chapel. There is another shrinesomewhere. "

"And they say you are not a good Catholic!"

"I would like to be good. Sometimes I try, " returned Jeanne, softly, andher eyes looked like a saint's, Susette thought. 

Pani led the way to the other shrine and while the child scatteredflowers and stood in silent reverence, Pani knelt and prayed. Then thethrong of gayly dressed girls and laughing young men were coming fromseveral quarters and the procession formed amid much chattering. 

Afterward there were games of various sorts, tests of strength, runningand jumping, and the Indian game of ball, which was wilder and moreexciting than the French. 

"Oh, here you are!" exclaimed Rose De Ber. On one side was MartinLavosse, a well-favored young fellow, and on the other a great giant, itseemed to Jeanne. For a moment she felt afraid. 

"Why, it isn't Jeanne Angelot?" Pierre caught both hands and almostcrushed them, and looked into the deep blue eyes with such eagernessthat the warm color flew to Jeanne's forehead. "Oh, how beautiful youhave grown!"

He bent down a little and uttered it in a whisper. Jeanne flushed andthen was angry at herself for the rising color. 

Pierre was fascinated anew. More than once in the two years he hadsmiled at his infatuation for the wild little girl who might be halfIndian so far as anyone knew. No, not half--but very likely a little. What a temper she had, too! He had nearly forgotten all her charms. Ofcourse it had been a childish intimacy. He had driven her in his dogsledge over the ice, he had watched her climb trees to his daring, theyhad been out in his father's canoe when she _would_ paddle and he wasalmost afraid of tipping over. Really he had run risks of his life forher foolishness. And his foolishness had been in begging her to promiseto marry him!

He had seen quite a good deal of the world since, and been treated as aman. In his slow-thoughted fashion he saw her the same wild, willful, obstinate little thing. Rose was a young lady, that was natural, butJeanne--

"They are going to dance. Hear the fiddles! It is one of the greatamusements up there, " indicating the North with his head. "Only half thetime you dance with boys--young fellows;" and he gave a chuckling laugh. "You see there is a scarcity of women. The Indian girls stand a goodchance. Only a good many of the men have left wives and children athome. "

"Did you like it?" Jeanne asked with interest. 

Pierre shrugged his broad shoulders. 

"At first I hated it. I would have run away, but if I had come back toDetroit everybody would have laughed and my father would have beaten me. Now he looks me over as if he knew I was worth something. Why, I amtaller than he! And I have learned a great deal about making money. "

They were done tuning up the violins and all the air was soft with thenatural melody of birds and whispering winds. This was broken by astentorian shout, and men and maids fell into places. Pierre graspedJeanne's hand so tightly that she winced. With the other hand he caughtone of the streamers. There was a great scramble for them. And when, assoon as the dancing was in earnest, a young fellow had to let hisstreamer go in turning his partner, some one caught it and a merry shoutrang through the group. 

"How stupid you are!" cried Rose to Martin. "Why did you not catch thatstreamer? Now we are on the outside. " She pouted her pretty lips. "Areyou bewitched with Pierre and Jeanne?"

"How beautifully she dances, and Pierre for a clumsy, big fellow is notbad. "

Hugh Pallent had caught a streamer and held out his hand to Rose. 

"Well, amuse yourself with looking at them, Monsieur, " returned Rosepettishly. "As for me, I came to dance, " and Pallent whisked her off. 

Martin's eyes followed them, other eyes as well. 

Pierre threw his streamer with a sleight of hand one would hardly havelooked for, and caught it again amid the cheers of his companions. Roundthey went, only once losing their place in the whole circle. The violinsflew faster, the dancing grew almost furious, eyes sparkled and cheeksbloomed. 

"I am tired, " Jeanne said, and lagging she half drew Pierre out of thecircle. 

"Tired! I could dance forever with you. "

"But you must not. See how the mothers are watching you for a chance, and the girls will be proud enough to have you ask them. "

"I am not going to;" shrugging his square shoulders. 

"Oh, yes, you are!" with a pretty air of authority. 

Jeanne saw envious eyes wandering in her direction. She did not know howshe outshone most of the girls, with an air that was so different fromthe ordinary. Her white cotton gown had a strip of bright, curiouslyworked embroidery above the hem and around the square neck that gave herexquisite throat full play. The sleeves came to the elbow, and bothhands and arms were beautiful. Her skin was many shades fairer, hercheeks like the heart of a rose, and her mouth dimpled in the corners. Her lithe figure had none of the squareness of the ordinary habitan, andevery movement was grace itself. 

"If you will not dance, let us walk, then. I have so much to say--"

"There will be all summer to say it in. And there is only one May dance. Susette!"

Susette came with sparkling eyes. 

"This young man is dance bewitched. See how he has changed. We canhardly believe it is the Pierre we used to run races and climb treeswith in nutting time. And he knows how to dance;" laughing. 

Pierre held out his hand, but there was a shade of reluctance in hiseyes. 

"I thought you were never going to throw over that great giant, " saidMartin Lavosse. "I suppose every girl will go crazy about him because hehas been up north and made some money. His father has planned to takehim into business. Jeanne, dance with me. "

"No, not now. I am tired. "

"I should think you would be, pulled around at that rate. Look, Susettecan hardly keep up, and her braids have tumbled. "

"Did I look like that?" asked Jeanne with sudden disapprobation in hertone. 

"Oh, no, no! You were like--like the fairies and wood things old MèreMichaud tells of. Your hair just floated around like a cloud full oftwilight--"

"No, the black ones when the thunderstorm is coming on, " she returnedmischievously. 

"It was beautiful and full of waves. And you are so straight and slim. You just floated. "

"And you watched me and lost your streamer twice. Rose did not like it. "

He was a little jealous and a little vexed at Rose giving him the go byin such a pointed manner. He would get even with her. 

"Why did you go off so early? We all went up for you. "

"I wanted to gather flowers for the shrines. "

"But we could have gone, too. "

"No, it would have been too late. It was such a pleasure to Pani. Shecan't dance, you know. "

"Let us walk around and see the tables. "

They were being spread out on the green sward, planks raised a foot orso, for every one would sit on the grass. Some of the Indian women hadbooths, and were already selling birch and sassafras beer, pipes andtobacco, and maple sugar. Little ones were running helter-skelter, tumbling down and getting up without a whimper. Here a knot of men wereplaying cards or dominoes. It was a pretty scene, and needed onlycavaliers and the glittering, stately stepping dames to make it apicture of old France. 

They were all tired and breathless with the dance presently, and threwthemselves around on the grass for a bit of rest. There was laughing andchattering, and bright eyes full of mirth sent coquettish glances firston this side, then on that. Susette had borne off her partner in triumphto see her mother, and there were old neighbors welcoming andcomplimenting Pierre De Ber. 

"Pierre, " said a stout fellow banteringly, "you have shown us yourimprovement in dancing. As I remember you were a rather clumsy boy, toobig for your years. Now they are going to try feats of skill andstrength. After that we shall have some of the Indian women run a race. Monsieur De Ber, we shall be glad to count you in, if you have thedaring to compete with the stay-at-homes. "

"For shame, Hugh! What kind of an invitation is that? Pierre, you do notlook as if you had spent all your prowess in dancing;" glancingadmiringly at the big fellow. 

"You will see. Give me a trial. " Pierre was nettled at the firstspeaker's tone. "I have not been up on the Mich for nothing. You fellowsthink the river and Lake St. Clair half the world. You should see LakeMichigan and Lake Superior. "

"Yes, Pierre, " spoke up another. "You used to be good on a jump. Comeand try to distance us stay-at-homes, if you haven't grown too heavy. "

They were marking off a place for the jumping on a level, and at a shortdistance hurdles of different heights had been put up. 

Pierre had been the butt of several things in his boyish days, but, though a heavy lad, often excelled in jumping. The chaffing stirred hisspirit. He would show what he could do. And Jeanne should see it. Whatdid he care for Susette's shining eyes!

Two or three supple young fellows, two older ones with a well-seasonedappearance, stood on the mark. Pierre eyed it. 

"No, " he said, "it is not fair. I'm a sight heavier than those. And Iwon't take the glory from them. But if you are all agreed I'll try theother. "

"Why, man, the other is a deal harder. "

Pierre nodded indifferently. 

The first started like a young athlete; a running jump and it fellshort. There was a great laugh of derision. But the second was moresuccessful and a shout went up. The next one leaped over the mark. Fourof them won. 

Rose was piqued that Martin should sit all this while on the grasschatting to Jeanne. She came around to them. 

"Pierre is going to jump, " she announced. "I'm sorry, but they badgeredhim into it. They were really envious of his dancing. "

Jeanne rose. "I do wonder where Pani is!" she said. "Shall we gonearer?"

"Oh, Pani is with the Indian women over there at the booths. No, stay, Jeanne, " and Rose caught her hand. "Look! look! Why, they might almostbe birds. Isn't it grand? But--Pierre--"

She might have spared her anxiety. Pierre came over with a splendidflying leap, clearing the bar better than his predecessor. A wild shoutwent up and Pierre's hand was clasped and shaken with a hearty approval. The girls crowded around him, and all was noisy jollity. Jeanne simplyglanced up and he caught her eye. 

"I have pleased her this time, " he thought. 

The racing of the squaws, though some indeed were quite young girls, wasproductive of much amusement. This was the only trial that had a prizeattached to it, --a beautiful blanket, for money was a scarce commodity. A slim, young damsel won it. 

"Jeanne, " and Pierre bent over her, for, though she was taller than theaverage, he was head and almost shoulders above her, "Jeanne, you couldhave beaten them all. "

She flushed. "I do not run races anymore, " she returned with dignity. 

He sighed. "That was a happy old time. How long ago it seems!Jeanne--are you glad to see me? You are so--so grave. And all the time Ihave been thinking of the child--I forgot you were to grow. "

Some one blew a horn long and loud that sent echoes among the trees athousand times more beautiful than the sound itself. The tables, if theycould be called that, were spread, and in no time were surrounded bymerry, laughing, chatting groups, who brought with them the appetites ofthe woods and wilds, hardly leaving crumbs for the birds. 

After that there was dancing again and rambling around, and Pierre wasmade much of by the mothers. It was a proud day for Madame De Ber, andshe glanced about among the girls to see whom of them she would choosefor a daughter-in-law. For now Pierre could have his pick of them all. 

CHAPTER XI. 

LOVE, LIKE THE ROSE, IS BRIERY. 

Jeanne Angelot sat in the doorway in the moonlight silvering the street. There were so many nooks and places in shadow that everything had aweird, fantastic look. The small garrison were quiet, and many of themasleep by nine o'clock. Early hours was the rule except in what werecalled the great houses. But in this out of the way nook few pedestriansever passed in the evening. 

"Child, are you not coming to bed? Why do you sit there? You said youwere tired. "

Pani was crooning over a handful of fire. The May sunshine had notpenetrated all the houses, and her old blood had lost its heat. 

"Yes, I was. What with the dancing and the walking about and all I wasvery weary. I want to get rested. It is so quiet and lovely. "

"You can rest in bed. "

"I want to stay here a little while longer. Do not mind me, but go tobed yourself. "

The voice was tender, persuasive, but Pani did not stir. Now and thenshe felt uncertain of the child. 

"Was it not a happy day to you, _ma fille_?"

"Yes, " with soft brevity. 

Had it been happy? At different times during the past two years acurious something, like a great wave, had swept over her, bearing heraway, yet slowly she seemed to float back. Only it was never quite thesame--the shores, the woods, the birds, the squirrels, the deer thatcame and looked at her with unafraid eyes, impressed her with some new, inexplicable emotion. What meaning was behind them?

But to-night she could not go back. She had passed the unknown boundary. Her limited knowledge could not understand the unfolding, the budding ofwomanhood, whose next change was blossoming. It had been a day of variedemotions. If she could have run up the hillside with no curious eyesupon her, sung with the birds, gathered great handfuls of daisies andbell flowers, tumbled up the pink and yellow fungus that grew around thetree roots, studied the bits of crisp moss that stood up like sentinels, with their red caps, and if you trod on them bristled up again, or ifshe could have climbed the trees and swung from branch to branch in thewavering flecks of sunshine as she did only such a little while ago, allwould have been well. What was it restrained her? Was it the throng ofpeople? She had enjoyed startling them with a kind of bravado. That waschildhood. Ah, yes. Everybody grew up, and these wild antics no longerpleased. Oh, could she not go back and have it all over again?

She had danced and laughed. Pierre had tried to keep her a good deal tohimself, but she had been elusive as a golden mote dancing up and down. She seemed to understand what this sense of appropriating meant, and shedid not like it. 

And then Martin Lavosse had been curious as well. Rose and he were notbetrothed, and Rose was like a gay humming bird, sipping pleasure andthen away. Madame De Ber had certainly grown less strict. But Martin wasstill very young and poor, and Rose could do better with her prettyface. Like a shrewd, experienced person she offered no opposition thatwould be like a breeze to a smoldering flame. There was Edouard Loisel, the notary's nephew, and even if he was one of the best fiddlers intown, he had a head for business as well, and was a shrewd trader. M. Loisel had no children of his own and only these two nephews, and ifEdouard fancied Rose before Martin was ready to speak--so the mother hada blind eye for Rose's pretty coquetries in that direction; but Rose didnot like to have Martin quite so devoted to any other girl as he seemedto be to Jeanne. 

Jeanne had not liked it at all. She had been good friends and comradeswith the boys, but now they were grown and had curious ideas of holdingone's hand and looking into one's eyes that intensified the new feelingpenetrating every pulse. If only she might run away somewhere. If Paniwere not so old they would go to the other side of the mountain andbuild a hut and live together there. She did not believe the Indianswould molest them. Anything to get away from this strange burthenpressing down upon her that she knew not was womanhood, and be free oncemore. 

She rose presently and went in. Pani was a heap in the chimney corner, she saw her by the long silver ray that fell across the floor. 

"Pani! Pani!" she cried vehemently. 

Her arms were around the neck and the face was lifted up, kissed with afervor she had never experienced before. 

"My little one! my little one!" sighed the woman. 

"Come, let us go to bed. " There was an eagerness in the tone thatcomforted the woman. 

The next morning Detroit was at work betimes. There was no fashion ofloitering then; when the sun flung out his golden arrows that dispelledthe night, men and women were cheerfully astir. 

"I must go and get some silk for Wenonah; she has some embroidery tofinish for the wife of one of the officers, " exclaimed Jeanne. "And thenI will take it to her. "

So if Pierre dropped in--

There were some stores down on St. Louis street where the imported goodsfrom Montreal and Quebec were kept. Laces and finery for the quality, silks and brocades, hard as the times were. Jeanne tripped along gayly. She would be happy this morning anyhow, as if she was putting off someimpending evil. 

"Take care, child! Ah, it is Jeanne Angelot. Did I run over thee, orthou over me?" laughing. "I have not on my glasses, but I ought to see atall slip of a girl like thee. "

"Pardon, Monsieur. I was in haste and heedless. "

"I have something for thee that will gladden thy heart--a letter. Let mesee--" beginning to search his pockets, and then taking out a greatleathern wallet. "No?" staring in surprise. "Then I must have left it onmy desk at home. Canst thou spend time to run up and get it?"

"Oh, gladly. " The words had a ring of joy that touched the man's heart. 

"It is well, Mam'selle, that it comes from the father, since it isreceived with such delight. "

She did not catch the double meaning. Indeed, Laurent was far from herthoughts. 

"Thank you a thousand times, " with her radiant smile, and he carried thebright face into his dingy warehouse. 

She went on her way blithe as the gayest bird. A letter from M. St. Armand! It had been so long that sometimes she was afraid he might bedead, like M. Bellestre. The birds were singing. "A letter, " theycaroled; "a letter, a l-e-t-t-e-r, " dwelling on every sound withenchanting tenderness. 

The old Fleury house overlooked the military garden to the west, and theriver to the east. There had been an addition built to it, a wing thatplaced the hall in the middle. It was wide, and the door at each end wasset open. At the back were glimpses of all kinds of greenery and thefragrance of blossoming shrubs. A great enameled jar stood midway of thehall and had in it a tall blooming rose kept through the winter indoors, a Spanish rose growing wild in its own country. The floor was polished, the fur rugs had been stowed away, and the curious Indian grass matsexhaled a peculiar fragrance. A bird cage hung up high and its inmatewas warbling an exquisite melody. Jeanne stood quite still and a senseof harmonious beauty penetrated her, gave her a vague impression ofhaving sometime been part and parcel of it. 

"What is it?" demanded the Indian servant. There were very few negroesin Detroit, and although there were no factories or mills, French girlsseldom hired out for domestics. 

"Madame Fleury--Monsieur sent me for a letter lying on his desk, " Jeannesaid in a half hesitating manner. 

The servant stepped into the room to consult her mistress. Then she saidto Jeanne:--

"Walk in here, Mademoiselle. "

The room was much more richly appointed than the hall, though thepolished floor was quite bare. A great high-backed settee with a carvedtop was covered with some flowered stuff in which golden threadsshimmered; there was a tall escritoire going nearly up to the ceiling, the bottom with drawers that had curious brass handles, rings spoutingout of a dragon's mouth. There were glass doors above and books andstrange ornaments and minerals on the shelves. On the high mantel, andvery few houses could boast them, stood brass candlesticks and vases ofcolored glass that had come from Venice. There were some quaintportraits, family heirlooms ranged round the wall, and chairs withcarved legs and stuffed backs and seats. 

On a worktable lay a book and a piece of lace work over a cushion fullof pins. By it sat a young lady in musing mood. 

She, too, said, "What is it?" but her voice had a soft, lingeringcadence. 

Jeanne explained meeting M. Fleury and his message, but her manner wasshy and hesitating. 

"Oh, then you are Jeanne Angelot, I suppose?" half assertion, halfinquiry. 

"Yes, Mademoiselle, " and she folded her hands. 

"I think I remember you as a little child. You lived with an Indianwoman and were a"--no, she could not say "foundling" to this beautifulgirl, who might have been born to the purple, so fine was her figure, her air, the very atmosphere surrounding her. 

"I was given to her--Pani. My mother had died, " she replied, simply. 

"Yes--a letter. Let me see. " She rose and went through a wide opendoorway. Jeanne's eyes followed her. The walls seemed full of arms andhunting trophies and fishing tackle, and in the center of the room asort of table with drawers down one side. 

"Yes, here. 'Mademoiselle Jeanne Angelot. '" She seemed to study thewriting. She was quite pretty, Jeanne thought, though rather pale, andher silken gown looped up at the side with a great bow of ribbon, fellat the back in a long train. Her movements were so soft and gliding thatthe girl was half enchanted. 

"You still live with--with the woman?"

"M. Bellestre gave her the house. It is small, but big enough for ustwo. Yes, Mademoiselle. Thank you, " as she placed the letter in Jeanne'shand, and received in return an enchanting smile. With a courtesy sheleft the room, and walked slowly down the path, trying to think. Somegirl, for there was gossip even in those days, had said that Mam'selle'slover had proved false to her, and married some one else in one of thesouthern cities. Jeanne felt sorry for her. 

Lisa Fleury wondered why so much beauty had been given to a girl whocould make no use of it. 

Jeanne hugged her letter to her heart. It had been so long, so long thatshe felt afraid she would never hear again. She wanted to run every stepof the way, last summer she would have. She almost forgot Wenonah andthe silk, then laughed at herself, and outside of the palisades she didrun. 

"You are so good, " Wenonah said. "Look at this embroidery, --is it notgrand? And that I used to color threads where now I can use beautifulsilk. It shines like the sun. The white people have wonderful ways. "

Jeanne laughed and opened her letter. She could wait no longer. Oh, delightful news! She laughed again in sheer delight, soft, ripplingnotes. 

"What is it pleases thee so, Mam'selle?"

"It is my friend who comes back, the grand Monsieur with the beautifulwhite beard, for whose sake I learned to write. I am glad I have learnedso many things. By another spring he will be here!"

Then Jeanne forgot the somber garment of womanhood that shadowed herlast night, and danced in the very gladness of her heart. Wenonah smiledand then sighed. What if this man of so many years should want to marrythe child? Such things had been. And there was that fine young De Berjust come home. But then, a year was a good while. 

"I must go and tell Pani, " and she was off like a bird. 

Oh, what a glad day it was! The maypole and the dancing were as nothingto it. After she had told over her news and they had partaken of asimple meal, she dragged the Indian woman off to her favorite haunt inthe woods, where three great tree boles made a pretty shelter and wherePani always fell asleep. 

Bees were out buzzing, their curious accompaniment to their work. Orwere they scolding because flowers were not sweeter? Yellow butterfliesmade a dazzle in the air, that was transparent to-day. The white bircheswere scattering their last year's garments, and she gathered quite aroll. Ah, what a wonderful thing it was to live and breathe thisfragrant air! It exhilarated her with joy as drinking wine mightanother. The mighty spirit of nature penetrated every pulse. 

From a little farther up she could see the blue waters, and the distanthorizon seemed to bound the lake. Would she ever visit the grand placesof the world? What was a great city such as Quebec like? Would she stayhere for years and years and grow old like Pani? For somehow she couldnot fancy herself in a home with a husband like Marie Beeson, or MadelonFreché, or several of the girls a little older than herself. Thecommonplaces of life, the monotonous work, the continual admiration andapproval of one man who seemed in no way admirable would be slow death. 

"Which is a warning that I must not get married, " she thought, and hergay laugh rippled under the trees in soft echoes. 

She felt more certain of her resolve that evening when Pierre came. 

"Where were you all the afternoon?" he said, almost crossly. "I was heretwice. I felt sure you would expect me. "

Jeanne flushed guiltily. She knew she had gone to escape such aninfliction, and she was secretly glad, yet somehow her heart prickedher. 

"Oh, you surely have not forgotten that I live half the time in thewoods;" glancing up mischievously. 

"Haven't you outgrown that? There was enough of it yesterday, " he said. 

"You ought not to complain. What a welcome you had, and what a triumph, too!"

"Oh, that was not much. You should see the leaping and the wrestling upnorth. And the great bounds with the pole! That's the thing when one hasa long journey. And the snowshoes--ah, that is the sport!"

"You liked it up there?"

"I was desperately homesick at first. I had half a mind to run away. Butwhen I once got really used to the people and the life--it was themaking of me, Jeanne. "

He stretched up proudly and swelled up his broad chest, enjoying hismanhood. 

"You will go back?" she asked, tentatively. 

"Well--that depends. Father wants me to stay. He begins to see that I amworth something. But pouf! how do people live in this crowded up town inthe winter! It is dirtier than ever. The Americans have not improved itmuch. You see there is Rose and Angelique, before Baptiste, and he israther puny, and father is getting old. Then, I could go up north everytwo or three years. Well, one finds out your worth when you go away. "

He gave a loud, rather exultant laugh that jarred on Jeanne. Why werethese rough characteristics so repellant to her? She had lived with themall her short life. From whence came the other side of her nature thatlonged for refinement, cultivated speech, and manners? And people ofreal education, not merely the business faculty, the figuring andbargain making, were more to her taste. M. Fleury was a gentleman, likeM. St. Armand. 

Pierre stretched out his long legs and crossed his feet, then slippedhis hands into his pockets. He seemed to take up half the room. 

"What have you been doing all the time I was away?" he said, when theawkwardness of the silence began to oppress him. 

Jeanne made a little crease in her forehead, and a curl came to the rosered lip. 

"I went to school until Christmas, then there was no teacher for awhile. And when spring was coming I decided not to go back. I read athome. I have some books, and I write to improve myself. I can do itquite well in English. Then there is some one at the Fort, a sort ofminister, who has a class down in the town, St. Louis street, and I gothere. "

"Is the minister a Catholic?"

"No, " she answered, briefly. 

"That is bad. " He shook his head disapprovingly. "But you go to church?"

"There is a little chapel and I like the talk and the singing. I knowtwo girls who go there. Sometimes I go with Pani to St. Anne's. "

"But you should go all the time, Jeanne. Religion is especially forwomen. They have the children to bring up and to pray for theirhusbands, when they are on voyages or in dangers. "

Pierre delivered this with an unpleasant air of masculine authoritywhich Jeanne resented in her inmost soul. So she exclaimed rathercurtly:--

"We will not discuss religion, Monsieur Pierre. "

The young man looked amazed. He gave the fringe on his deerskin legginga sharp twitch. 

"You are still briery, Mam'selle. And yet you are so beautiful that youought to be gentle as well. "

"Why do people want to tell me that I am beautiful? Do they not supposeI can see it?" Jeanne flung out, impatiently. 

"Because it is a sweet thing to say what the speaker feels. And beautyand goodness should go hand in hand. "

"I am for myself alone;" she returned, proudly. "And if I do not suitother people they may take the less of me. There are many pretty girls. "

"Oh, Mam'selle, " he exclaimed, beseechingly, "do not let us quarrelimmediately, when I have thought of you so often and longed to see youso much! And now that my mother says pleasant things about you--she isnot so opposed to learning since Tony Beeson has been teaching Marie toread and write and figure--and we are all such friends--"

Ah, if they could remain only friends! But Jeanne mistrusted the outcomeof it. 

"Then tell me about the great North instead of talking foolishness; theStraits and the wonderful land of snow beyond, and the beautifulislands! I like to hear of countries. And, Pierre, far to the southflowers bloom and fruit ripens all the year round, luscious things thatwe know nothing about. "

Pierre's descriptive faculties were not of a high order. Still when hewas once under way describing some of the skating and sledging matcheshe did very well, and in this there was no dangerous ground. 

The great bell at the Fort clanged out nine. 

"It is time to go, " Jeanne exclaimed, rising. "That is the signal. AndPani has fallen asleep. "

Pierre rose disconcerted. The bright face was merry and friendly, thatwas all. Yesterday other girls had treated him with more real warmth andpleasure. But there was a certain authority about her not to begainsaid. 

"Good night, then, " rather gruffly. 

"He loves thee, _ma mie_. Hast thou no pity on him?" said Pani, lookingearnestly at the lovely face. 

"I do not want to be loved;" and she gave a dissentient, shiveringmotion. "It displeases me. "

"But I am old. And when I am gone--"

The pathetic voice touched the girl and she put her arms around theshrunken neck. 

"I shall not let you go, ever. I shall try charms and get potions fromyour nation. And then, M. St. Armand is to come. Let us go to bed. Iwant to dream about him. "

One of the pitiful mysteries never to be explained is why a man or awoman should go on loving hopelessly. For Pierre De Ber had loved Jeannein boyhood, in spite of rebuffs; and there was a certain dogged tenacityin his nature that fought against denial. A narrow idea, too, that agirl must eventually see what was best for her, and in this he gainedPani's sympathy and good will for his wooing. 

He was not to be easily daunted. He had improved greatly and gained acertain self-reliance that at once won him respect. A fine, tall fellow, up in business methods, knowing much of the changes of the fur trade, and with shrewdness enough to take advantage where it could be foundwithout absolute dishonesty, he was consulted by the more cautioustraders on many points. 

"Thou hast a fine son, " one and another would say to M. De Ber; and thefather was mightily gratified. 

There were many pleasures for the young people. It was not all work intheir lives. Jeanne joined the parties; she liked the canoeing on theriver, the picnics to the small islands about, and the dances oftengiven moonlight evenings on the farms. For never was there a morepleasure loving people with all their industry. And then, indeed, simplegowns were good enough for most occasions. 

Jeanne was ever on the watch not to be left alone with Pierre. Sometimesshe half suspected Pani of being in league with the young man. So shetook one and another of the admirers who suited her best, bestowing herfavors very impartially, she thought, and verging on the other hand tothe subtle dangers of coquetry. What was there in her smile that shouldseem to summon one with a spell of witchery?

Madame De Ber was full of capricious moods as well. She loved her son, and was very proud of him. She selected this girl and that, but no, itwas useless. 

"He has no eyes for anyone but Jeanne, " declared Rose half angrily, soreat Martin's defection as well, though she was not sure she wanted him. "She coquets first with one, then with another, then holds her headstiffly above them all. And at the Whitsun dance there was a younglieutenant who followed her about and she made so much of him that I wasashamed of her for a French maid. "

Rose delivered herself with severe dignity, though she had been veryproud to dance with the American herself. 

"Yes, I wish Pierre would see some charm elsewhere. He is old enough nowto marry. And Jeanne Angelot may be only very little French, though herskin has bleached up clearer, and she puts on delicate airs with heraccent. She will not make a good wife. "

"You are talking of Jeanne, " and the big body nearly filled the window, that had no hangings in summer, and the sash was swung open for air. Pierre leaned his elbows on the sill, and his face flushed deeply. "Youdo not like her, I know, but she is the prettiest girl in Detroit, andshe has a dowry as well. "

"And that has a tint of scandal about it, " rejoined the motherscornfully. 

"But Father Rameau disproved that. And, whatever she is, even if shewere half Indian, I love her! I have always loved her. And I shall marryher, even if I have to take her up north and spend my whole life there. I know how to make money, and we shall do well enough. And that will bethe upshot if you and my father oppose me, though I think it is more youand Rose. "

"Did ever a French son talk so to his mother before? If this is northernmanners and respect--"

Madame De Ber dropped into a chair and began to cry, and then, a veryunusual thing it must be confessed, went into hysterics. 

"Oh, you have killed her!" screamed Rose. 

"She is not dead. Dead people do not make such a noise. Maman, maman, "the endearing term of childhood, "do not be so vexed. I will be a goodson to you always, but I cannot make myself miserable by marrying onewoman when I love another;" and he kissed her fondly, caressing her withhis strong hands. 

The storm blew over presently. That evening when Père De Ber heard thestory he said, a little gruffly: "Let the boy alone. He is a fine sonand smart, and I need his help. I am not as stout as I used to be. And, Marie, thou rememberest that thou wert my choice and not that of anygo-between. We have been happy and had fine children because we lovedeach other. The girl is pretty and sweet. "

They came to neighborly sailing after a while. Jeanne knew nothing ofthe dispute, but one day on the river when Martin's canoe was keepingtime with hers, and he making pretty speeches to her, she said:--

"It is not fair nor right that you should pay such devotion to me, Martin. Rose does not like it, and it makes bad friends. And I think youcare for her, so it is only a jealous play and keeps me uncomfortable. "

"Rose does not care for me. She is flying at higher game. And if shecannot succeed, I will not be whistled back like a dog whose master haskicked him, " cried the young fellow indignantly. 

"Rose has said I coquetted with you, " Jeanne exclaimed with a roseateflush and courageous honesty. 

"I wish it was something more. Jeanne, you are the sweetest girl in allDetroit. "

"Oh, no, Martin, nor the prettiest, nor the girl who will make the bestwife. And I do not want any lovers, nor to be married, which, I suppose, is a queer thing. Sometimes I think I will stay in the house altogether, but it is so warm and gets dreary, and out-of-doors is so beautiful withsunshine and fragrant air. But if I cannot be friends with anyone--"

"We will be friends, then, " said Martin Lavosse. 

CHAPTER XII. 

PIERRE. 

When Madame De Ber found that Pierre was growing moody and dispiritedand talked of going up north again, her mother's heart relented. Moreover, she could not but see that Jeanne was a great favorite inspite of her wild forest ways and love of solitude with a book in hand. Her little nook had become a sort of court, so she went there no more, for some one was sure to track her. And the great oak was too wellknown. She would drop down the river and fasten her canoe in somesheltered spot, and finding a comfortable place sit and read or dream. The chapel parson was much interested in her and lent her some wonderfulbooks, --a strange story in measured lines by one John Milton, and ahistory of France that seemed so curious to her she could hardly believesuch people had lived, but the parson said it was all true and thatthere were histories of many other countries. But she liked this becauseMonsieur St. Armand had gone there. 

Yet better than all were the dreams of his return. She could see thevessel come sailing up the beautiful river and the tall, fine figurewith the long, silken beard snowy white, and the blue eyes, the smilingmouth, hear the voice that had so much music in it, and feel the claspof the hand soft as that of any of the fine ladies. Birds sang andinsects chirped, wild ducks and swans chattered to their neighbors, andgreat flocks made a dazzle across the blue sky. Some frogs in marshyplaces gave choruses in every key, but nothing disturbed her. 

What then?

Something different would come to her life. An old Indian squaw had toldher fortune a year agone. "You will have many lovers and manyadventures, " she said, "and people coming from far to claim you, but youwill not go with them. And then another old man, like a father, willtake you over the seas and you will see wonderful things and get ahusband who will love you. "

What if M. St. Armand should want to take her over the sea? She did notbelong to anybody; she knew that now, and at times it gave her amortifying pain. Some of the ladies had occasionally noticed her andtalked with her, but she had a quick consciousness that they did notesteem her of their kind. She liked the lovely surroundings of theirlives, the rustle of their gowns, the glitter of the jewels some of themwore, their long, soft white fingers, so different from the stubby handsof the habitans. Hers were slim, with pink nails that looked like a bitof shell, but they were not white. Perhaps there was a little Indianblood that made her so lithe and light, able to climb trees, to swimlike a fish, and gave her this great love for the wide out-of-doors. 

It was hot one afternoon, and she would not go out anywhere. The chamberwindow overlooked the garden, where flowers and sweet herbs weregrowing, and every whiff of wind sent a shower of fragrance within. Shehad dropped her book and gone to dreaming. Pani sat stringing beads forsome embroidery--or perhaps had fallen into a doze. 

There was a step and a cordial "_bon soir_. " Jeanne roused at the voice. 

"I am glad to find you in, Pani. It is well that you have not much houseto keep, for then you could not go out so often. "

"No. Be seated, Madame, if it please you. "

"Yes. I want a little talk about the child, Pani. Monsieur De Ber hasbeen in consultation with the notary, M. Loisel, and has laid before hima marriage proposal from Pierre. He could see no objections. I did thinkI would like a little more thrift and household knowledge in my son'swife, but I am convinced he will never fancy anyone else, and he will bewell enough fixed to keep a maid, though they are wasteful trollops andnot like your own people, Pani. And Jeanne has her dowry. Since she hasno mother or aunt it is but right to consult you, and I know you havebeen friendly to Pierre. It will be a very good marriage for her, and Ihave come to say we are all agreed, and that the betrothal may takeplace as soon as she likes. "

Jeanne had listened with amazement and curiosity to the first part ofthe speech and the really pleasant tone of voice. Now she came forwardand stood in the doorway, her slim figure erect, her waving hair fallingover her beautiful shoulders, her eyes with the darkness of night inthem, but the color gone out of her cheeks with the great effort she wasmaking to keep calm. 

"Madame De Ber, " she began, "I could not help hearing what you said. Ithank you for your kindly feelings toward your son's wishes, but beforeany further steps are taken I want to say that a betrothal is out of thequestion, and that there can be no plan of marriage between us. "

"Jeanne Angelot!" Madame's eyes flashed with yellow lights and her blackbrows met in a frown. 

"I am sorry that Pierre loves me. I told him long ago, before he wentaway, when we were only children, that I could not be his wife. I triedto evade him when he came back, and to show him how useless his hopeswere. But he would not heed. Even if you had liked and approved me, Madame, I might have felt sorrier, but that would not have made me lovehim. "

"And, pray, what is the matter with Pierre? He may not be such a gallantdancing Jack as the young officer, or a marvelous fiddler like M. Loisel's nephew, who I hear has been paying court to you. Mam'selleJeanne Angelot, you have made yourself the talk of the town, and you maybe glad to have a respectable man marry you. "

"Oh, if I were the talk of the town I care too much for Pierre to givehim such a wife. I would take no man's love when I could not return it. And I do not love Pierre. I think love cannot be made, Madame, for ifyou try to make it, it turns to hate. I do not love anyone. I do notwant to marry!"

"Thou hast not the mark of an old maid, and some day it may fare worsewith thee!" the visitor flung out angrily. 

Jeanne's face blazed at the taunt. A childish impulse seized her tostrike Madame in the very mouth for it. She kept silence for someseconds until the angry blood was a little calmer. 

"I trust the good God will keep me safe, Madame, " she said tremulously, every pulse still athrob. "I pray to him night and morning. "

"But thou dost not go to confession or mass. Such prayers of thine ownplanning will never be heard. Thou art a wicked girl, an unbeliever. Iwould have trained thee in the safe way, and cared for thee like amother. But that is at an end. Now I would not receive thee in my house, if my son lay dying. "

"I shall not come. Do not fear, Madame. And I am truly sorry for Pierrewhen there are so many fine girls who would be glad of a nice husband. Ihope he will be happy and get some one you can all love. "

Madame was speechless. The soft answer had blunted her weapons. Jeanneturned away, glided into the chamber and the next instant had leaped outof the window. There was a grassy spot in the far corner of the garden, shaded by their neighbor's walnut tree. She flung herself down upon it, and buried her face in the cool grass. 

"My poor son! my poor son!" moaned Madame. "She has no heart, thatchild! She is not human. Pani, it was not a child the squaw dropped inyour arms, it was--"

"Hush! hush!" cried Pani, rising and looking fierce as if she mightattack Madame. "Do not utter it. She was made a Christian child in thechurch. She is sweet and good, and if she cannot love a husband, thesaints and the holy Mother know why, and will forgive her. "

"My poor Pierre! But she is not worth his sorrow. Only he is soobstinate. Last night he declared he would never take a wife while shewas single. And to deprive him of happiness! To refuse when I hadsacrificed my own feelings and meant to be a mother to her! No, she isnot human. I pity you, Pani. "

Then Madame swept out of the door with majestic dignity. Pani claspedher arms about her knees and rocked herself to and fro, while the oldsuperstitions and weird legends of her race rushed over her. The mothermight have died, but who was the father? There was some strange blood inthe child. 

"Heaven and the saints and the good God keep watch over her!" she prayedpassionately. Then she ran out into the small yard. 

"Little one, little one--" her voice was tremulous with fear. 

Jeanne sprang up and clasped her arms about Pani's neck. How warm andsoft they were. And her cheek was like a rose leaf. 

"Pani, " between a cry and a laugh, "do lovers keep coming on forever?There was Louis Marsac and Pierre, and Martin Lavosse angry with Rose, and"--her cheek was hot now against Pani's cool one, throbbing withgirlish confusion. 

"Because thou art beautiful, child. "

"Then I wish I were ugly. Oh, no, I do not, either. " Would M. St. Armandlike her so well if she were ugly? "Ah, I do not wonder women becomenuns--sometimes. And I am sincerely sorry for Pierre. I suppose the DeBers will never speak to me again. Pani, it is growing cooler now, letus go out in the woods. I feel stifled. I wish we had a wigwam up in theforest. Come. "

Pani put away her work. 

"Let us go the other way, the _chemin du ronde_, to the gate. Rose maybe gossiping with some of the neighbors. "

They walked down that way. There was quite a throng at King's wharf. Some new boats had come in. One and another nodded to Jeanne; but justas she was turning a hand touched her arm, too lightly to be the jostleof the throng. She was in no mood for familiarities, and shook it offindignantly. 

"Mam'selle Jeanne Angelot, " a rather rich voice said in a laughing tone. 

She guessed before she even changed the poise of her head. What cruelfate followed her!

"Nay, do not look so fierce! How you have grown, yet I should have knownyou among a thousand. "

"Louis Marsac!" The name seemed wrested from her. She could feel thewrench in her mind. 

"Then you have not forgotten me! Mam'selle, I cannot help it--" with adeprecation in his voice that was an apology and begged for condonation. "You were pretty before, but you have grown wonderfully beautiful. Youwill allow an old friend to say it. "

His eyes seemed to devour her, from her dusky head to the finger tips, nay, even to the slim ankles, for skirts were worn short among theordinary women. Only the quality went in trailing gowns, and held themup carefully in the unpaved ways. 

"If you begin to compliment, I shall dismiss you from the list of myacquaintances. It is foolish and ill-bred. And if you go around praisingevery pretty girl in Le Detroit, you will have no time left forbusiness, Monsieur. "

Her face set itself in resolute lines, her voice had a cold scornfulnessin it. 

"Is this all the welcome you have for me? I have been in but an hour, and busy enough with these dolts in unloading. Then I meant to hunt youup instead of going to sup with Monsieur Meldrum, with whom I have muchbusiness, but an old friend should have the first consideration. "

"I am not sure, Monsieur, that I care for friends. I have found themtroublesome. And you would have had your effort for nothing. Pani and Iwould not be at home. "

"You are the same briery rose, Jeanne, " with an amused laugh. "So sweeta one does well to be set in thorns. Still, I shall claim an oldfriend's privilege. And I have no end of stirring adventures for yourear. I have come now from Quebec, where the ladies are most gracious andcharming. "

"Then I shall not please you, Monsieur, " curtly. "Come, Pani, " linkingher arm in that of the woman, "let us get out of the crowd, " and shenodded a careless adieu. 

They turned into a sort of lane that led below the palisades. 

"Pani, " excitedly, "let us go out on the river. There will be an earlymoon, and we shall not mind so that we get in by nine. And we need notstop to gossip with people, canoes are not so friendly as woodlandpaths. "

Her laugh was forced and a little bitter. 

Pani had hardly recovered from her surprise. She nodded assent with afeeling that she had been stricken dumb. It was not altogether LouisMarsac's appearance, he had been expected last summer and had not come. She had almost forgotten about him. It was Jeanne's mood that perplexedher so. The two had been such friends and playmates, one might say, onlya few years ago. He had been a slave to her pretty whims then. She haddecorated his head with feathers and called him Chief of Detroit, or shehad twined daisy wreaths and sweet grasses about his neck. He had bentdown the young saplings that she might ride on them, a graceful, fearless child. They had run races, --she was fleet as the wind and hecould not always catch her. He had gathered the first ripe wildstrawberries, not bigger than the end of her little finger, but, oh, howluscious! She had quarreled with him, too, she had struck him with afeathery hemlock branch, until he begged her pardon for some fanciedfault, and nothing had suited him better than to loll under the greatoak tree, listening to Pani's story and all the mysterious suppositionsof her coming. Then he told wild legends of the various tribes, talkedin a strange, guttural accent, danced a war dance, and was almost asmuch her attendant as Pani. 

But the three years had allowed him to escape from the woman's memory, as any event they might expect again in their lives. Hugh de Marsac hadturned into something of an explorer, beside his profitable connectionwith the fur company. The copper mines on Lake Superior had stirred up agreat interest, and plans were being made to work them to a betteradvantage than the Indians had ever done. Fortunes were the dream ofmankind even then; though this was destined to end in disappointment. 

Jeanne chose her canoe and they pushed out. She was in no haste, and fewpeople were going down the river, not many anywhere except on business. The numerous holy days of the Church, which gave to religion an hour ortwo in the morning and devoted to pleasure the rest of the day, set theriver in a whirl of gayety. Ordinary days were for work. 

The air was soft and fragrant. Some sea gulls started from a sandy nookwith disturbed cries, then returned as if they knew the girl. A fishhawkdarted swiftly down, having seen his prey in the clear water andcaptured it. There were farms stretching down the river now, with roughlog huts quite distinct from the whitewashed or vine-covered cottages ofthe French. But the fields betrayed a more thrifty cultivation. Therewere young orchards nodding in the sunshine, great stretches of wavingmaize fields, and patches of different grains. Little streams danced outhere and there and gurgled into the river, as if they were glad to bepart of it. 

"Pani, do you suppose we could go ever so far down and build a tent or ahut and live there all the rest of the summer?"

"But I thought you liked the woods!"

"I like being far away. I am tired of Detroit. "

"Mam'selle, it would hardly be safe. There are still unfriendly Indians. And--the loneliness of it! For there are some evil spirits about, thoughHoly Church has banished them from the town. "

Occasionally her old beliefs and fears rushed over the Indian woman andshook her in a clutch of terror. She felt safest in her own little nest, under the shadow of the Citadel, with the high, sharp palisades abouther, when night came on. 

"Art thou afraid of Madame De Ber?" she asked, hesitatingly. "For of atruth she did not want you for her son's wife. "

"I know it. Pierre made them all agree to it. I am sorry for Pierre, andyet he has the blindness of a mole. I am not the kind of wife he wants. For though there is so much kissing and caressing at first, there aredinners and suppers, and the man is cross sometimes because other thingsgo wrong. And he smells of the skins and oils and paints, and the dirt, too, " laughing. "Faugh! I could not endure it. I would rather dwell inthe woods all my life. Why, I should come to hate such a man! I shouldrun away or kill myself. And that would be a bitter self-punishment, forI love so to live if I can have my own life. Pani, why do men want oneparticular woman? Susette is blithe and merry, and Angelique is prettyas a flower, and when she spins she makes a picture like one theschoolmaster told me about. Oh, yes, there are plenty of girls who wouldbe proud and glad to keep Pierre's house. Why does not the good God givemen the right sense of things?"

Pani turned her head mournfully from side to side, and the shrunken lipsmade no reply. 

Then they glided on and on. The blue, sunlit arch overhead, the wavingtrees that sent dancing shadows like troops of elfin sprites over thewater, the fret in one place where a rock broke the murmurous lapping, the swish somewhere else, where grasses and weeds and water bloomsrooted in the sedge rocked back and forth with the slow tide--howpeaceful it all was!

Yet Jeanne Angelot was not at peace. Why, when the woods or the riveralways soothed her? And it was not Pierre who disturbed the current, wholay at the bottom like some evil spirit, reaching up long, cruel arms tograsp her. Last summer she had put Louis Marsac out of her life with anexultant thrill. He would forget all about her. He would or had marriedsome one up North, and she was glad. 

He had come back. She knew now what this look in a man's eyes meant. Shehad seen it in a girl's eyes, too, but the girl had the right, and wasoffering incense to her betrothed. Oh, perhaps--perhaps some other onemight attract him, for he was very handsome, much finer and more manlythan when he went away. 

Why did not Pani say something about him? Why did she sit there halfasleep?

"Wasn't it queer, Pani, that we should go so near the wharf, when wewere trying to run away--"

She ended with a short laugh, in which there was neither pleasure normirth. 

Pani glanced up with distressful eyes. 

"Eh, child!" she cried, with a sort of anguish, "it is a pity thou wertmade so beautiful. "

"But there are many pretty girls, and great ladies are lovely to lookat. Why should I not have some of the charm? It gives one satisfaction. "

"There is danger for thee in it. Perhaps, after all, the Recollet housewould be best for thee. "

"No, no;" with a passionate protest. "And, Pani, no man can make memarry him. I would scream and cry until the priest would feel afraid tosay a word. "

Pani put her thin, brown hand over the plump, dimpled one; and her eyeswere large and weird. 

"Thou art afraid of Louis Marsac, " she said. 

"Oh, Pani, I am, I am!" The voice was tremulous, entreating. "Did yousee something in his face, a curious resolve, and shall I call itadmiration? I hope he has a wife. Oh, I know he has not! Pani, you musthelp me, guard me. "

"There is M. Loisel, who would not have thee marry against thy will. Iwish Father Rameau were home--he comes in the autumn. "

"I do not want to marry anyone. I am a strange girl. Marie Beeson saidsome girls were born old maids, and surely I am one. I like the oldermen who give you fatherly looks, and call you child, and do not pressyour hand so tight. Yet the young men who can talk are pleasant to meet. Pani, did you love your husband?"

"Indian girls are different. My father brought a brave to the wigwam andwe had a feast and a dance. The next morning I went away with him. Hewas not cruel, but you see squaws are beasts of burthens. I was only achild as you consider it. Then there came a great war between two tribesand the victors sold their prisoners. It is so long ago that it seemslike a story I have heard. "

The young wives Jeanne knew were always extolling their husbands, butshe thought in spite of their many virtues she would not care to havethem. What made her so strange, so obstinate!

"Pani, " in a low tone scarce above the ripple of the water, "M. Marsacis very handsome. The Indian blood does not show much in him. "

"Yes, child. He is improved. There is--what do you call it?--the grandair about him, like a gentleman, only he was impertinent to thee. "

"You will not be persuaded to like him? It was different with Pierre. "

Jeanne made this concession with a slight hesitation. 

"Oh, little one, I will never take pity on anyone again if you do notcare for him! The Holy Mother of God hears me promise that. I was sorryfor Pierre and he is a good lad. He has not learned to drink rum and isreverent to his father. It is a thousand pities that he should love youso. "

Pani kissed the hand she held; Jeanne suddenly felt light of heartagain. 

Down the river they floated and up again when the silver light wasflooding everything with a softened glory. Jeanne drew her canoe ingently, there was no one down this end, and they took a longer wayaround to avoid the drinking shops. The little house was quiet and darkwith no one to waylay them. 

"You will never leave me alone, Pani, " and she laid her head on thewoman's shoulder. "Then when M. St. Armand comes next year--"

She prayed to God to keep him safely, she even uttered a little prayerto the Virgin. But could the Divine Mother know anything of girls'troubles?

CHAPTER XIII. 

AN UNWELCOME LOVER. 

Louis Marsac stood a little dazed as the slim, proudly carried figureturned away from him. He was not much used to such behavior from women. He was both angry and amused. 

"She was ever an uncertain little witch, but--to an old friend! I daresay lovers have turned her head. Perhaps I have waited too long. "

There was too much pressing business for him to speculate on a girl'swaywardness; orders to give, and then important matters to discuss atthe warehouse before he made himself presentable at the dinner. Thethree years had added much to Marsac's store of knowledge, as well as tohis conscious self-importance. He had been in grand houses, a favoredguest, in spite of the admixture of Indian blood. His father's positionwas high, and Louis held more than one fortunate chance in his hand. Developing the country was a new and attractive watchword. He had noprejudices as to who should rule, except that he understood that theFrench narrowness and bigotry had served them ill. Religion was, nodoubt, an excellent thing; the priests helped to keep order and were inmany respects serviceable. As for the new rulers, one need to be alittle wary of too profound a faith in them. The Indians had not beenwholly conquered, the English dreamed of re-conquest. 

Detroit was not much changed under the new régime. Louis liked the greatexpanse at the North better. The town was only for business. 

He had a certain polish and graceful manner that had come from theFrench side, and an intelligence that was practical and appealed to men. He had the suavity and deference that pleased women, if he knew littleabout poets and writers, then coming to be the fashion. His French wasmelodious, the Indian voice scarcely perceptible. 

In these three years there had been months that he had never thought ofJeanne Angelot, and he might have let her slip from his memory but for aslender thread that interested him, and of which he at last held theclew. If he found her unmarried--well, a marriage with him would advanceher interests, if not--was it worth while to take trouble that could beof no benefit to one's self?

Was it an omen of success that she should cross his path almost thefirst thing, grown into a slim, handsome girl, with glorious eyes and arose red mouth that he would have liked to kiss there in the publicstreet? How proud and dignified she had been, how piquant and daring andindifferent to flattery! The saints forfend! It was not flattery at all, but the living truth. 

The next day he was very busy, but he stole away once to the great oak. Some children were playing about it, but she was not there. And therewas a dance that evening, given really for his entertainment, so hemust participate in it. 

The second day he sauntered with an indifferent air to the well knownspot. A few American soldiers were busy about the barracks. How odd notto see a bit of prancing scarlet!

The door was closed top and bottom. The tailor's wife sat on herdoorstep, her husband on his bench within. 

"They have gone away, M'sieu, " she said. "They went early this morning. "

He nodded. Monsieur De Ber had met him most cordially and invited him todrop in and see Madame. They were in the lane that led to St. Anne'sstreet; he need not go out of his way. 

He was welcomed with true French hospitality. Rose greeted him with adelighted surprise, coquettish and demure, being under her mother'ssharp eye. Yes, here was a pretty girl!

"My husband was telling about the wonderful copper mines, " Madame beganwith great interest. "There was where the Indians brought it from, Isuppose, but in the old years they kept very close about it. No doubtthere are fortunes and fortunes in them;" glancing up with interest. 

"My father is getting a fortune out of them. He has a large tract ofland thereabout. If there should be peace for years there will be greatprosperity, and Detroit will have her share. It has not changed muchexcept about the river front. Do you like the Americans for neighbors aswell as the English?"

Madame gave a little shrug. "They do not spend their money so readily, my husband says. "

"They have less to spend, " with a short laugh. "Some of the best Englishfamilies are gone. I met them at Quebec. Ah, Madame, there is a town foryou!" and his eyes sparkled. 

"It is very gay, I suppose, " subjoined Rose. 

"Gay and prosperous. Mam'selle, you should be taken there once to showthem how Detroit maids bloom. There is much driving about, while here--"

"The town spreads outside. There are some American farmers, but theirmethods are wild and queer. "

"You have a fine son, Madame, and a daughter married, I hear. Mam'selle, are many of the neighborhood girls mated?"

"Oh, a dozen or so, " laughed Rose. "But--let me see, the wild littlething, Jeanne Angelot, that used to amuse the children by her pranks, still roams the woods with her Pani woman. "

"Then she has not found a lover?" carelessly. 

"She plays too much with them, Monsieur. It is every little while a newone. She settles to nothing, and I think the schooling and the money didher harm. But there was no one in authority, and it is not even as if M. Loisel had a wife, you see;" explained Madame, with emphasis. 

"The money?" raising his brows, curiously. 

"Oh, it was a little M. Bellestre left, " and a fine bit of scorn crossedMadame's face. "There was some gossip over it. She has too much liberty, but there is no one to say a word, and she goes to the heretic chapelsince Father Rameau has been up North. He comes back this autumn. FatherGilbert is very good, but he is more for the new people and the home forthe sisters. There are some to come from the Ursuline convent atMontreal, I hear. "

Marsac was not interested in the nuns. After a modicum of judiciouspraise to Madame, he departed, promising to come in again. 

When a week had elapsed and he had not seen Jeanne he was more thanpiqued, he was angry. Then he bethought himself of the Protestantchapel. Pani could not bring herself to enter it, but Jeanne had found apleasing and devoted American woman who came in every Sunday and theymet at a point convenient to both. Pani walked to this trysting spot forher darling. 

And now she was fairly caught. Louis Marsac bowed in the politestfashion and wished her good day in a friendly tone, ranging himselfbeside her. Jeanne's color came and went, and she put her hands in aclasp instead of letting them hang down at her side as they had a momentbefore. Her answers were brief, a simple "yes" or "no, " or "I do notknow, Monsieur. "

And Pani was not there! Jeanne bade her friend a gentle good day andthen holding her head very straight walked on. 

"Mam'selle, " he began in his softest voice, though his heart was raging, "are we no longer friends, when we used to have such merry times underthe old oak? I have remembered you; I have said times without number, 'When I go back to La Belle Detroit, my first duty will be to hunt uplittle Jeanne Angelot. If she is married I shall return with a heavyheart. ' But she is not--"

"Monsieur, if thy light-heartedness depends on that alone, thou mayst goback cheerily enough, " she replied formally. "I think I am one of St. Catharine's maids and in the other world will spend my time combing herhair. Thou mayst come and go many times, perhaps, and find me JeanneAngelot still. "

"Have you forsworn marriage? For a handsome girl hardly misses a lover. "

He was trying to keep his temper in the face of such a plain denial. 

"I am not for marriage, " she returned briefly. 

"You are young to be so resolute. "

"Let us not discuss the matter;" and now her tone was haughty, forbidding. 

"A father would have authority to change your mind, or a guardian. "

"But I have no father, you know. "

He nodded doubtfully. She felt rather than saw the incredulous halfsmile. Had he some plot in hand? Why should she distrust him so?

"Jeanne, we were such friends in that old time. I have carried you in myarms when you were a light, soft burthen. I have held you up to catchsome branch where you could swing like a cat. I have hunted the woodswith you for flowers and berries and nuts, and been obedient to yourpretty whims because I loved you. I love you still. I want you for mywife. Jeanne, you shall have silks and laces, and golden gauds andservants to wait on you--"

"I told you, Monsieur, I was not for marriage, " she interrupted in thecoldest of tones. 

"Every woman is, if you woo her long enough and strong enough. "

He tried very earnestly to keep the sneer out of his voice, but hardlysucceeded. His face flushed, his eyes shone with a fierce light. Havethis girl he would. She should see who was master. 

"Monsieur, that is ungentlemanly. "

"_Monsieur!_ In the old time, it was Louis. "

"We have outgrown the old times, " carelessly. 

"I have not. Nor my love. "

"Then I am sorry for you. But it cannot change my mind. "

The way was very narrow now. She made a quick motion and passed him. Butshe might better have sent him on ahead, instead of giving him thisstudy of her pliant grace. The exquisite curves of her figure in itsthin, close gown, the fair neck gleaming through the soft curls, thebeautiful shoulders, the slim waist with a ribbon for belt, the light, gliding step that scarcely moved her, held an enthralling charm. He hada passionate longing to clasp his arms about her. All the hot bloodwithin him was roused, and he was not used to being denied. 

There was one little turn. Pani was not sitting before the door. Oh, where was she? A terror seized Jeanne, yet she commanded her voice andmoved just a trifle, though she did not look at him. He saw that she hadpaled; she was afraid, and a cruel exultation filled him. 

"Monsieur, I am at home, " she said. "Your escort was not needed, " andshe summoned a vague smile. "There is little harm in our streets, exceptwhen the traders are in, and Pani is generally my guard. Then for us thesoldiers are within call. Good day, Monsieur Marsac. "

"Nay, my pretty one, you must be gentler and not so severe to make it agood day for me. And I am resolved that it shall be. See, Jeanne, I havealways loved you, and though there have been years between I have notforgotten. You shall be my wife yet. I will not give you up. I shallstay here in Detroit until I have won you. No other demoiselle would beso obdurate. "

"Because I do not love you, Monsieur, " and she gave the appellation itsmost formal sound. "And soon I shall begin to hate you!"

Oh, how handsome she looked as she stood there in a kind of nobleindignation, her heart swelling above her girdle, the child's sweetnessstill in the lines of her face and figure, as the bud when it is justabout to burst into bloom. He longed to crush her in one eager embrace, and kiss the nectar of her lovely lips, even if he received a blow forit as before. That would pile up a double revenge. 

Pani burst from the adjoining cottage. 

"Oh, " she cried, studying one and the other. "_Ma fille_, the poortailor, Philippe! He had a fit come on, and his poor wife screamed forhelp, so I hurried in. And now the doctor says he is dying. O MonsieurMarsac, would you kindly find some one in the street to run for apriest?"

"I will go, " with a most obliging smile and inclination of the head. 

Jeanne clasped her arms about Pani's neck, and, laying her head on theshrunken bosom, gave way to a flood of tears. 

"_Ma petite_, has he dared--"

"He loves me, Pani, with a fierce, wicked passion. I can see it in hiseyes. Afterward, when things went wrong, he would remember and beat me. He kissed me once on the mouth and I struck him. He will never forget. But then, rather than be his wife, I would kill myself. I will not, willnot do it. "

"No, _mon ange_, no, no. Pierre would be a hundred times better. And hewould take thee away. "

"But I want no one. Keep me from him, Pani. Oh, if we could go away--"

"Dear--the good sisters would give us shelter. "

Jeanne shook her head. "If Father Rameau were but here. Father Gilbertis sharp and called me a heretic. Perhaps I am. I cannot count beads anymore. And when they brought two finger bones of some one long dead toSt. Anne's, and all knelt down and prayed to them, and Father Gilbertblessed them, and said a touch would cure any disease and help a dyingsoul through purgatory, I could not believe it. Why did it not curelittle Marie Faus when her hip was broken, and the great running sorenever stopped and she died? And he said it was a judgment againstMarie's mother because she would not live with her drunken brute of ahusband. No, I do not think Père Gilbert would take me in unless Irecanted. "

"Oh, come, come, " cried Pani. "Poor Margot is most crazed. And I cannotleave you here alone. "

They entered the adjoining cottage. There were but two rooms andoverhead a great loft with a peaked roof where the children slept. Philippe lay on the floor, his face ghastly and contorted. There weresome hemlock cushions under him, and his poor wife knelt chafing hishands. 

"It is of no use, " said the doctor. "Did some one summon the priest?"

"Immediately, " returned Pani. 

"And there is poor Antoine on the Badeau farm, knowing nothing of this, "cried the weeping mother. 

The baby wailed a sorrowful cry as if in sympathy. It had been a punylittle thing. Three other small ones stood around with frightened faces. 

Jeanne took up the baby and bore it out into the small garden, where shewalked up and down and crooned to it so sweetly it soon fell asleep. Thenext younger child stole thither and caught her gown, keeping pace withtiny steps. How long the moments seemed! The hot sun beat down, but itwas cool here under the tree. How many times in the stifling afternoonsPhilippe had brought his work out here! He had grown paler and thinner, but no one had seemed to think much of it. What a strange thing deathwas! What was the other world like--and purgatory? The mother of littleMarie Faus was starving herself to pay for the salvation of herdarling's soul. 

"Oh, I should not like to die!" and Jeanne shuddered. 

The priest came, but it was not Father Gilbert. The last rites wereperformed over the man who might be dead already. The baby and thelittle girl were brought in and the priest blessed them. There wereseveral neighbors ready to perform the last offices, and now Jeanne tookall the children out under the tree. 

Louis Marsac returned, presently, and offered his help in any matter, crowding some money into the poor, widowed hand. Jeanne he could seenowhere. Pani was busy. 

The next day he paid M. Loisel a visit, and stated his wishes. 

"You see, Monsieur, Jeanne Angelot is in some sort a foundling, and manyfamilies would not care to take her in. That I love her will besufficient for my father, and her beauty and sweetness will do the rest. She will live like a queen and have servants to wait on her. There aremany rich people up North, and, though the winters are long, no onesuffers except the improvident. And I think I have loved Mam'selle froma little child. Then, too, " with an easy smile, "there is a suspicionthat some Indian blood runs in Mam'selle's veins. On that ground we areeven. "

Yes, M. Loisel had heard that. Mixed marriages were not approved of bythe better class French, but a small share of Indian blood was notcontemned. When it came to that, Louis Marsac was not a person to belightly treated. His father had much influence with the Indian tribesand was a rich man. 

So the notary laid the matter before Pani and his ward, when the funeralwas over, though he would rather have pleaded for his nephew. It was amost excellent proffer. 

But he was not long in learning that Jeanne Angelot had not only dislikebut a sort of fear and hatred for the young man; and that nothing wasfarther from her thoughts. Yet he wondered a little that the fortune andadoration did not tempt her. 

"Well, well, my child, we shall not be sorry to have you left in oldDetroit. Some of our pretty girls have been in haste to get away toQuebec or to the more eastern cities. Boston, they say, is a fine place. And at New York they have gay doings. But we like our own town and haveall the pleasure that is good for one. So I am glad to have thee stay. "

"If I loved him it would be different. But I think this kind of love hasbeen left out of me, " and she colored daintily. "All other loves andgratitude have been put in, and oh, M'sieu, such an adoration for thebeautiful world God has made. Sometimes I go down on my knees in theforest, everything speaks to me so, --the birds and the wind among thetrees, the mosses with dainty blooms like a pin's head, the velvetlichens with rings of gray and brown and pink. And the little lizardsthat run about will come to my hand, and the deer never spring away, while the squirrels chatter and laugh and I talk back to them. Then Ihave grown so fond of books. Some of them have strange melodies in themthat I sing to myself. Oh, no, I do not want to be a wife and have ahouse to keep, neither do I want to go away. "

"Thou art a strange child. "

M. Loisel leaned over and kissed her on the crown of her head where theparting shone white as the moon at its full. Lips and rosy mouths wereleft for lovers in those days. 

"And you will make him understand?"

"I will do my best. No one can force a damsel into marriage nowadays. "

Opposition heightened Louis Marsac's desires. Then he generally had hisway with women. He did not need to work hard to win their hearts. Evenhere in spite of Indian blood, maids smiled on the handsome, jauntyfellow who went arrayed in the latest fashion, and carried it off withthe air of a prince. There was another sort of secret dimly guessed atthat would be of immense advantage to him, but he had the wariness ofthe mother's side as well as the astuteness of the father. 

A fortnight went by with no advantage. Pani never left her charge alone. The rambles in the woods were given up, and the girl's heart almost diedwithin her for longing. She helped poor Margot nurse her children, andif Marsac came on a generous errand they surrounded her and swarmedover her. He could have killed them with a good will. She would not goout on the river nor join the girls in swimming matches nor take part indances. Sometimes with Pani she spent mornings in the minister's study, and read aloud or listened to him while his wife sat sewing. 

"You are not easily tempted, " said the good wife one day. "It is nosecret that this young trader, M. Marsac, is wild for love of you. "

"But I do not like him, how then could I give him love?" and she glancedout of proud, sincere eyes, while a soft color fluttered in her face. 

"No, that could not be, " assentingly. 

The demon within him that Louis Marsac called love raged and rose towhite heat. If he could even carry her off! But that would be a foolishthing. She might be rescued, and he would lose the good opinion of manywho gave him a flattering sympathy now. 

So the weeks went on. The boats were loaded with provision, some of themstarted on their journey. He came one evening and found Jeanne and herprotector sitting in their doorway. Jeanne was light-hearted. She hadheard he was to sail to-morrow. 

"I have come to bid my old playmate and friend good-by, " and there was asweet pathos in his voice that woke a sort of tenderness in the girl'sheart, for it brought back a touch of the old pleasant days before hehad really grown to manhood, when they sat under her oak and listened toPani's legendary stories. 

"I wish you _bon voyage_, Monsieur. "

"Say Louis just once. It will be a bit of music to which I shall sail upthe river. "

"Monsieur Louis. "

The tone was clear and no warmth penetrated it. He could see her facedistinctly in the moonlight and it was passive in its beauty. 

"Thou hast not forgiven me. If I knelt--"

"Nay!" she sprang up and stood at Pani's back. "There is nothing tokneel for. When you are away I shall strive to forget your insistence--"

"And remember that it sprang from love, " he interrupted. "Jeanne, isyour heart of marble that nothing moves it? There are curious stories ofwomen who have little human warmth in them--who are born of strangeparents. "

"Monsieur, that is wrong. Jeanne hath ever been loving and fond from thetime she put her little arms around my neck. She is kindly andtender--the poor tailor's lonely woman will tell you. And she spenthours with poor Madame Campeau when her own daughter left her and wentaway to a convent, comforting her and reading prayers. No, she is notcold hearted. "

"Then you have taken all her love, " complainingly. 

"It is not that, either, " returned the woman. 

"Jeanne, I shall love thee always, cruel as thou hast been. And if thouart so generous as to pray for others, say a little prayer that willhelp me bear my loneliness through the cold northern winter that I hadhoped might be made warm and bright by thy presence. Have a little pityif thou hast no love. "

He was mournfully handsome as he stood there in the silvery light. Almost her heart was moved. She said a special prayer for only oneperson, but Louis Marsac might slip into the other class that was "allthe world. "

"Monsieur, I will remember, " bowing a little. 

"Oh, lovely icicle, you are enough to freeze a man's soul, and yet yourouse it to white heat! I can make no impression I see. Adieu, adieu. "

He gave a sudden movement and would have kissed her mouth but she puther hand across it, and Pani, divining the endeavor, rose at the sameinstant. 

"Mam'selle Jeanne Angelot, you will repent this some day!" and his tonewas bitter with revenge. 

Then he plunged down the street with an unsteady gait and was lost inthe darkness. 

"Pani, come in, bar the door. And the shutter must be fastened;" pullingthe woman hastily within. 

"But the night will be hot. "

"It is cooler now. There has been a fresh breeze from the river. And--Iam sore afraid. "

It was true that the night dews and the river gave a coolness to thecity at night, and on the other side was the great sweep of woods andhills. 

Nothing came to disturb them. Jeanne was restless and had bad dreams, then slept soundly until after sunrise. 

"Antoine, " she said to the tailor's little lad, "go down to the wharfand watch until the 'Flying Star' sails up the river. The tide isearly. I will reward you well. "

"O Mam'selle, I will do it for love;" and he set off on a trot. 

"There are many kinds of love, " mused Jeanne. "Strange there should be akind that makes one afraid. "

At ten the "Flying Star" went up the river. 

"Thou hast been a foolish girl, Jeanne Angelot!" declared one of theneighbors. "Think how thou mightst have gone up the river on a weddingjourney, and a handsome young husband such as falls to the lot of fewmaids, with money in plenty and furs fit for a queen. And there is, nodoubt, some Indian blood in thy veins! Thou hast always been wild as adeer and longing to live out of doors. "

Jeanne only laughed. She was so glad to feel at liberty once more. For amonth she had virtually been a prisoner. 

Madame De Ber, though secretly glad, joined the general disapproval. Shehad half hoped he might fancy Rose, who sympathized warmly with him. Shecould have forgiven the alien blood if she had seen Rose go up theriver, in state, to such a future. 

And though Jeanne was not so much beyond childhood, it was settled thatshe would be an old maid. She did not care. 

"Let us go out under the oak, Pani, " she exclaimed. "I want to look atsomething different from the Citadel and the little old houses, something wide and free, where the wind can blow about, and where thereare waves of sweetness bathing one's face like a delightful sea. Andto-morrow we will take to the woods. Do you suppose the birds and thesquirrels have wondered?"

She laughed gayly and danced about joyously. 

Wenonah sat at her hut door making a cape of gull's feathers for anofficer's wife. 

"You did not go north, little one, " and she glanced up with a smile ofapproval. 

For to her Jeanne would always be the wild, eager, joyous child who hadwhistled and sung with the birds, and could never outgrow childhood. Shelooked not more than a dozen years old to-day. 

"No, no, no. Wenonah, why do you cease to care for people, when you haveonce liked them? Yet I am sorry for Louis. I wish he had loved some oneelse. I hope he will. "

"No doubt there are those up there who have shared his heart and hiswigwam until he tired of them. And he will console himself again. Youneed not give him so much pity. "

"Wenonah!" Jeanne's face was a study in surprise. 

"I am glad, Mam'selle, that his honeyed tongue did not win you. I wantedto warn, but the careful Pani said there was no danger. My brave hastold some wild stories about him when he has had too much brandy. Andsometimes an Indian girl who is deserted takes a cruel revenge, not onthe selfish man, but on the innocent girl who has trusted him, and isnot to blame. He is handsome and double of tongue and treacherous. See--he would have given me money to coax you to go out in the canoewith me some day to gather reeds. Then he could snatch you away. It wasa good deal of money, too!"

"O Wenonah!" She fell on the woman's neck and kissed the soft, browncheek. 

"He knew you trusted me, that was the evil of him. And I said to Pani, 'Do not let her go out on the river, lest the god of the Strait putforth his hand and pull her down to the depths and take her to hiscave. ' And Pani understood. "

"Yes, I trust you, " said the girl proudly. 

"And I have no white blood in my veins. "

She went down to the great oak with Pani and they sat shaded from theafternoon sunshine with the lovely river stretching out before them. Shedid not care for the old story any more, but she leaned against Pani'sbosom and patted her hand and said: "No matter what comes, Pani, weshall never part. And I will grow old with you like a good daughter andwait on you and care for you, and cook your meals when you are ill. "

Pani looked into the love-lit, shining eyes. 

"But I shall be so very, very old, " she replied with a soft laugh. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A HIDDEN FOE. 

Ah, what a day it was to Jeanne Angelot! They had gone early in themorning and taken some food with them in a pretty basket made of birchbark. How good it was to be alive, to be free! The sunshine had neverbeen so golden, she thought, nor danced so among the branches nor shookout such dainty sprites. How they skipped over the turf, now hold ofhands, now singly, now running away and disappearing, others coming intheir places!

"The very woods are alive, " she declared in glee. 

Alive they were with the song of birds, the chirp of insects, themurmuring wind. Back of her was a rivulet fretting its way over pebblesdown a hillside, making an irregular music. She kept time to it, thenshe changed to the bird song, and the rustle among the pines. 

"It is so lovely, Pani. I seem to be drinking in a strange draught thatgoes to my very finger tips. Oh, I wonder how anyone can bear to die!"

"When they are old it is like falling asleep. And sometimes they are sotired it makes them glad. "

"I should only be tired of staying in the house. But I suppose onecannot help death. One can refuse to go into a little cell and shut outthe sunlight and all the beauty that God has made. It is wicked Ithink. For one can pray out of doors and sing hymns. I am sure God willhear. "

They ate their lunch with a relish; Jeanne had found some berries andsome ripe wild plums. There was a hollow tree full of honey, she couldtell by the odorous, pungent smell. She would tell Wenonah and have someof the boys go at night and--oh, how hard to rob the poor bees, tomurder and rob them! No, she would keep their secret. 

She laid her head down in Pani's lap and went fast asleep; and theIndian woman's eyes were touched with the same poppy juice. Once Panistarted, she thought she heard a step. In an instant her eyes were bentinquiringly around. There was no one in sight. 

"It was the patter of squirrels, " she thought. 

The movement roused Jeanne. She opened her eyes and smiled withinfantine joy. 

"We have both been asleep, " said the woman. "And now is it not time togo home?"

"Oh, look at the long shadows. They are purple now, and soft dark green. The spirits of the wood have trooped home, tired of their dancing. "

She rose and gave herself a little shake. 

"Pani, " she exclaimed, "I saw some beautiful flowers before noon, overon the other side of the stream. I think they were something strange. Ican easily jump across. I will not be gone long, and you may stay here. Poor Pani! I tired you out. "

"No, Mam'selle, you were asleep first. "

"Was I? It was such a lovely sleep. Oh, you dear woods;" and she claspedher hands in adoration. 

Long, flute-like notes quivered through the branches--birds calling totheir mates. Pani watched the child skipping, leaping, pulling down abranch and letting it fly up again. Then she jumped across the brookwith a merry shout, and a tree hid her. 

Pani studied the turf, the ants and beetles running to and fro, thestrange creatures with heavy loads. A woodpecker ran up a tree andpulled out a white grub. "Tinkle, tinkle, bu-r-r-r, " said the littlestream. Was that another shout?

Presently Pani rose and went toward the stream. "Jeanne! Jeanne!" shecalled. The forest echoes made reply. She walked up, Jeanne had gone inthat direction. Once it seemed as if the voice answered. 

Yes, over yonder was a great thicket of bloom. Surely the child wouldnot need to go any farther. Presently there was a tangle of underbrushand wild grapevines. Pani retraced her steps and going farther downcrossed and came up on the other side, calling as she went. The woodsgrew more dense. There was a chill in the air as if the sun neverpenetrated it. There was no real path and she wandered on in a thrill ofterror, still calling but not losing sight of the stream. 

And now the sun dropped down. Terrified, Pani made the best of her wayback. What had happened? She had seen no sign of a wild animal, andsurely the child could not be lost in that brief while!

She must give an alarm. She ran now until she was out of breath, thenshe had to pause until she could run again. She reached the farms. Theywere mostly all long strips of land with the houses in reach of thestockade for safety. 

"Andre Helmuth, " she cried, "I have lost the child, Jeanne. Give analarm. " Then she sank down half senseless. 

Dame Helmuth ran out from the fish she was cooking for supper. "What isit?" she cried. "And who is this?" pointing to the prostrate figure. 

"Jeanne Angelot's Pani. And Jeanne, she says, is lost. It must be in thewoods. But she knows them so well. "

"She was ever a wild thing, " declared the dame. "But a night in thewoods alone is not such a pleasant pastime, with panthers, and bearshave been seen. And there may be savages prowling about. Yes, Andre, give the alarm and I will look after the poor creature. She has alwaysbeen faithful to the child. "

By the time the dame had restored her, the news had spread. It reachedWenonah presently, who hastened to the Helmuths'. Pani sat bewildered, and the Indian woman, by skillful questioning, finally drew the storyfrom her. 

"I think it is a band of roving Indians, " she said. "I am glad now thatPaspah is at home. He is a good guide. But we must send in town and geta company. "

"Yes, yes, that is the thing to do. A few soldiers with arms. One cannottell how many of the Indians there may be. I will go at once, " and AndreHelmuth set off on a clumsy trot. 

"And the savory fish that he is so fond of, getting spoiled. But whatis that to the child's danger? Children, come and have your suppers. "

They wanted to linger about Pani, but the throng kept increasing. Wenonah warded off troublesome questions and detailed the story tonewcomers. The dame brought her a cup of tea with a little brandy in it, and then waited what seemed an interminable while. 

The alarm spread through the garrison, and a searching party was orderedout equipped with lanterns and well armed. At its head was Jeanne'sadmirer, the young lieutenant. 

Tony Helmuth had finished his supper. 

"Let me go with them, " he pleaded. "I know every inch of the way. I havebeen up and down the creek a hundred times. "

Pani rose. "I must go, too, " she said, weakly, but she dropped back onthe seat. 

"Thou wilt come home with me, " began Wenonah, with gentlepersuasiveness. "Thou hast not the strength. "

She yielded passively and clung piteously to the younger woman, her feetlagging. 

"She was so glad and joyous all day. I should not have let her go out ofmy sight, " the foster mother moaned. "And it was only such a littlewhile. Heaven and the blessed Mother send her back safely. "

"I think they will find her. Paspah is good on a trail. If they stop forthe night and build a fire that will surely betray them. "

She led Pani carefully along, though quite a procession followed. 

"Let her be quiet now, " said the younger squaw. "You can hear nothingmore from her, and she needs rest. Go your ways. "

Pani was too much exhausted and too dazed to oppose anything. Once ortwice she started feebly and said she must go home, but dropped backagain on the pine needle couch covered with a blanket. Between wakingand sleep strange dreams came to her that made her start and cry out, and Wenonah soothed her as one would a child. 

All the next day they waited. The town was stirred with the event, andthe sympathy was universal. The pretty Jeanne Angelot, who had been leftso mysteriously, had awakened romantic interest anew. A few years agothis would have been a common incident, but why one should want to carryoff a girl of no special value, --though a ransom would be raised readilyenough if such a thing could save her. 

On the second day the company returned home. No trace of any maraudingparty had been found. There had been no fires kindled, no signs of anystruggle, and no Indian trails in the circuit they had made. The partymight have had a canoe on Little river and paddled out to Lake St. Clair; if so, they were beyond reach. 

The tidings utterly crushed Pani. For a fortnight she lay in Wenonah'scabin, paying no attention to anything and would have refused sustenanceif Wenonah had not fed her as a child. Then one day she seemed to wakeas out of a trance. 

"They have not found her--my little one?" she said. 

Wenonah shook her head. 

"Some evil spirit of the woods has taken her. "

"Can you listen and think, Pani?" and she chafed the cold hand she held. "I have had many strange thoughts and Touchas, you know, has seenvisions. The white man has changed everything and driven away thechildren of the air who used to run to and fro in the times of ourfathers. In her youth she called them, but the Church has it they aredemons, and to look at the future is a wicked thing. It is said in someplaces they have put people to death for doing it. "

Pani's dark eyes gave a glance of mute inquiry. 

"But I asked Touchas. At first she said the great Manitou had taken thepower from her. But the night the moon described the full circle and onecould discern strange shapes in it, she came to me, and we went and satunder the oak tree where the child first came to thee. There was greatdisturbance in Touchas' mind, and her eyes seemed to traverse spacebeyond the stars. Presently, like one in a dream, she said:--

"'The child is alive. She was taken by Indians to the _petite_ lake, herhead covered, and in strong arms. Then they journeyed by water, stopping, and going on until they met a big ship sailing up North. Sheis in great danger, but the stars watch over her; a prisoner where thewindow is barred and the door locked. There is a man between two women, an Indian maiden, whose heart hungers for him. She comes down to meethim and follows a trail and finds something that rouses her to fierceanger. She creeps and creeps, and finds the key and unlocks the door. The white maiden is afraid at first and cowers, for she reads passion inthe other's eyes. O great Manitou, save her!' Then Touchas screamed andwoke, shivering all over, and could see no further into the strangefuture. 'Wait until the next moon, ' she keeps saying. But the child willbe saved, she declares. "

"Oh, my darling, my little one!" moaned the woman, rocking herself toand fro. "The saints protect thee. Oh, I should have watched theebetter! But she felt so safe. She had been afraid, but the fear haddeparted. Oh, my little one! I shall die if I do not see thee again. "

"I feel that the great God will care for her. She has done no evil; andthe priests declare that he will protect the good. And I thought andthought, until a knowledge seemed to come out of the clear sky. So I didnot wait for the next moon. I said, 'I have little need for Paspah, since I earn bread for the little ones. Why should he sit in the wigwamall winter, now and then killing a deer or helping on the dock for adrink of brandy?' So I sent him North again to join the hunters and tofind Jeanne. For I know that handsome, evil-eyed Louis Marsac is at thebottom of it. "

"Oh, Wenonah!" Pani fell on her shoulder and cried, she was so weak andovercome. 

"We will not speak of this. Paspah has a grudge against Marsac; hestruck him a blow last summer. My father would have killed him for theblow, but the red men who hang around the towns have no spirit. Theycreep about like panthers, and only show their teeth to an enemy. Theforest is the place for them, but this life is easier for a woman. "

Wenonah sighed. Civilization had charms for her, yet she saw that it wasweakening her race. They were driven farther and farther back and to thenorthward. Women might accept labor, they were accustomed to it in thesavage state but a brave could not so demean himself. 

Pani's mind was not very active yet. For some moments she studiedWenonah in silence. 

"She was afraid of him. She would not go out to the forest nor on theriver while he was here. But he went away--"

"He could have planned it all. He would find enough to do his bidding. But if she has been taken up North, Paspah will find her. "

That gave some present comfort to Pani. But she began to be restless andwanted to return to her own cottage. 

"You must not live alone, " said Wenonah. 

"But I want to be there. If my darling comes it is there she will searchfor me. "

When Wenonah found she could no longer keep her by persuasion orentreaty, she went home with her one day. The tailor's widow had takensome little charge of the place. It was clean and tidy. 

Pani drew a long, delighted breath, like a child. 

"Yes, this is home, " she exclaimed. "Wenonah, the good Mother of Godwill reward you for your kindness. There is something"--touching herforehead in piteous appeal--"that keeps me from thinking as I ought. Butyou are sure my little one will come back, like a bird to its nest?"

"She will come back, " replied Wenonah, hardly knowing whether shebelieved it herself or not. 

"Then I shall stay here. "

She was deaf to all entreaties. She went about talking to herself, witha sentence here and there addressed to Jeanne. 

"Yes, leave her, " said Margot. "She was good to me in my sorrow, and_petite_ Jeanne was an angel. The children loved her so. She would notgo away of her own accord. And I will watch and see that no harm happensto Pani, and that she has food. The boys will bring her fagots for fire. I will send you word every day, so you will know how it fares with her. "

Pani grew more cheerful day by day and gained not only physicalstrength, but made some mental improvement. In the short twilight shewould sit in the doorway listening to every step and tone, sometimesrising as if she would go to meet Jeanne, then dropping back with asigh. 

The soldiers were very kind to her and often stopped to give her goodday. Neighbors, too, paused, some in sympathy, some in curiosity. 

There were many explanations of the sudden disappearance. That JeanneAngelot had been carried off by Indians seemed most likely. Such thingswere still done. 

But many of the superstitious shook their heads. She had come queerly asif she had dropped from the clouds, she had gone in the same manner. Perhaps she was not a human child. All wild things had come at hercall, --she had talked to them in the woods. Once a doe had run to herfrom some hunters and she had so covered it with her girlish arms andfigure that they had not dared to shoot. If there were bears or panthersor wolves in the woods, they never molested her. 

They recalled old legends, Indian and French, some gruesome enough, butthey did not seem meet for pretty, laughing Jeanne, who was allkindliness and sweetness and truth. If she was part spirit, surely itwas a good spirit and not an evil one. 

Then Pani thought she would go to Father Gilbert, though she had neverfelt at home with him as she did with good Père Rameau. There might beprayers that would hasten her return. Or, if relics helped, if she couldonce hold them in her hand and wish--

The old missionaries who had gone a century or two before to plant thecross along with the lilies of France had the souls of the heathensavages at heart. Since then times had changed and the Indians were notlooked upon as such promising subjects. Father Gilbert worked for thegood and the glory of the Church. One English convert was worth a dozenIndians. So the church had been improved and made more beautiful. Therewere singers who caught the ear of the casual listener, and he or shecame again. The school, too, was improved, the sisters' house enlarged, and a retreat built where women could spend days of sorrow and go awayrefreshed. Sometimes they preferred to stay altogether. 

Father Gilbert listened rather impatiently to the prolix story. He mighthave heard it before, he did not remember. There were several Indianwaifs in school. 

"And this child was baptized, you say? Why did you not bring her tochurch?" he asked sharply. 

"Good Père, I did at first. But M. Bellestre would not have her forced. And then she only came sometimes. She liked the new school because theytaught about countries and many things. She was always honest and truthspeaking and hated cruel deeds--"

"But she belonged to the Church, you see. Woman, you have done her agreat wrong and this is sent upon you for punishment. She should havebeen trained to love her Church. Yes, you must come every day and praythat she may be returned to the true fold, and that the good God willforgive your sin. You have been very wicked and careless and I do notwonder God has sent this upon you. When she comes back she must be givento the Church. "

Pani turned away without asking about the relics. Her savage heart roseup in revolt. The child was hers, the Church had not all the right. AndJeanne had come to believe like the chapel father, who had been veryfriendly toward her. Perhaps it was all wrong and wicked, but Jeanne wasan angel. Ah, if she could hold her in her old arms once more!

Father Gilbert went to see M. Loisel. What was it about the money theIndian woman and the child had? Could not the Church take better care ofit? And if the girl was dead, what then?

M. Loisel explained the wording of the bequest. If both died it wentback to the Bellestre estate. Only in case of Jeanne's marriage did ittake the form of a dowry. In June and December it came to him, and hesent back an account of the two beneficiaries. 

Really then it was not worth looking after, Father Gilbert decided, whenthere was so much other work on hand. 

Madame De Ber and her coterie, for already there were little cliques inDetroit, shrugged their shoulders and raised their eyebrows when JeanneAngelot was mentioned. 

She was such a coquette! And though she flouted Louis Marsac to hisface, when he had really taken her at her word and gone, she might haverepented and run after him. It was hardly likely a band of rovingIndians would burthen themselves with a girl. Then she was fleet of footand had a quick brain, she could have eluded them and returned by thistime. 

Rose De Ber had succeeded in captivating her fine lover and sent Martinabout with a bit of haughtiness that would have become a queen. It wasa fine wedding and Jeanne was lost sight of in the newer excitement. 

Pani rambled to and fro, a grave, silent woman. When she grew strongenough she went to the forest and haunted the little creek with herplaints. The weather grew colder. Furs and rugs were brought out, andwarm hangings for winter. Martin Lavosse came in and arranged somecomforts for Pani, looked to see that the shutters would swing easilyand brought fresh cedar and pine boughs for pallets. Crops were beinggathered in, and there were merrymakings and church festivals, but thepoor woman sat alone in her room that fronted the street, now and thencasting her eyes up and down in mute questioning. The light of her lifehad gone. If Jeanne came not back all would be gone, even faith in thegood God. For why should he, if he was so great and could manage thewhole world, let this thing happen? Why should he deliver Jeanne intothe hands of the man she hated, or perhaps let her be torn to pieces bysome wild beast of the forest, when, by raising a finger, he could havehelped it? Could he be angry because she had not sent the child to beshut up in the Recollet house and made a nun of?

Slavery and servitude had not extinguished the love of liberty that hadbeen born in Pani's soul. She had succumbed to force, then to a certainfondness for a kind mistress. But it seemed as if she alone hadunderstood the child's wild flights, her hatred of bondage. She had doneno harm to any living creature; she had been full of gratitude to thegreat Manitou for every flower, every bird, for the golden sun that sether pulses in a glow, for the moon and stars, and the winds that sang toher. Oh, surely God could not be angry with her!

CHAPTER XV. 

A PRISONER. 

Jeanne Angelot climbed a slight ascent where great jagged stones hadprobably been swept down in some fierce storm and found lodgment. Tuftsof pink flowers, the like of which she had not seen before, hung overone ledge. They were not wild roses, yet had a spicy fragrance. Here thelittle stream formed a sort of basin, and the overflow made the cascadedown the winding way strewn with pebbles and stones worn smooth by theforce of the early spring floods. How wonderfully beautiful it was! Tothe north, after a space of wild land, there was a prairie stretchingout as far as one could see, golden green in the sunlight; to the eastthe lake, that seemed to gather all sorts of changeful, magical tints onits bosom. 

She had never heard of the vale of Enna nor her prototype who stooped topluck

 "The fateful flower beside the rill, The daffodil! The daffodil!"

as she sprang down to gather the blossoms. The stir in the woods did notalarm her. Her eyes were still over to the eastward drinking in thatfine draught of celestial wine, the true nectar of life. A bird pipedoverhead. She laughed and answered him. Then a sudden darkness fell uponher, close, smothering. Her cry was lost in it. She was picked up, slung over some one's shoulder and borne onward by a swift trot. Herarms were fast, she could only struggle feebly. 

When at length she was placed on her feet and the blanket partlyunrolled, she gave a cry. 

"Hush, hush!" said a rough voice in Chippewa. "If you make a noise weshall kill you and throw you into the lake. Be silent and nothing shallharm you. "

"Oh, let me go!" she pleaded. "Why do you want me?"

The blanket was drawn over her head again. Another stalwart Indianseized her and ran on with such strides that it nearly jolted the breathout of her body, and the close smell of the blanket made her faint. Whenthe second Indian released her she fell to the ground in a heap. 

"White Rose lost her breath, eh?"

"You have covered her too close. We are to deliver her alive. The whitebrave will have us murdered if she dies. "

One of them brought some water from a stream near by, and it revivedher. 

"Give me a drink!" she cried, piteously. Then she glanced at herabductors. Four fierce looking Indians, two unusually tall and powerful. To resist would be useless. 

"Whither are you going to take me?"

A grunt was the only reply, and they prepared to envelop her again. 

"Oh, let me walk a little, " she besought. "I am stiff and tired. "

"You will not give any alarm?"

Who could hear in this wild, solitary place?

"I will be quiet. Nay, do not put the blanket about me, it is so warm, "she entreated. 

One of the Indians threw it over his shoulder. Two others took an armwith a tight grasp and commenced a quick trot. They lifted her almostoff her feet, and she found this more wearying than being carried. 

"Do not go so fast, " she pleaded. 

The Indian caught her up and ran again. Her slim figure was as nothingto him. But it was better not to have her head covered. 

There seemed a narrow path through these woods, a trail the Indiansknew. Now and then they emerged from the woods to a more open space, butthe sunlight was mostly shut out. Once more they changed and now theyreached a stream and put down their burthen. 

"We go now in a canoe, " began the chief spokesman. "If the White Rosewill keep quiet and orderly no harm will come to her. Otherwise herhands and feet must be tied. "

Jeanne drew a long breath and looked from one to the other. Their faceswere stolid. Questioning would be useless. 

"I will be quiet, " she made answer. 

They spread the blanket about and seated her in the middle. One man tookhis place behind her, one in front, and each had two ends of theblanket to frustrate any desperate move. Then another stood up to thepaddle and steered the canoe swiftly along the stream, which was an armof a greater river emptying into the lake. 

What could they want of her? Jeanne mused. Perhaps a ransom, she hadheard such tales, though it was oftener after a battle that a prisonerwas released by a ransom. She did not know in what direction they weretaking her, everything was strange though she had been on many of thesmall streams about Detroit. Now the way was narrow, overhung withgloomy trees, here and there a white beech shining out in a ghostlyfashion. The sun dropped down and darkness gathered, broken by theshrill cry of a wild cat or the prolonged howl of a wolf. Here theystarted a nest of waterfowl that made a great clatter, but they glidedswiftly by. It grew darker and darker but they went silently with only alow grunt from one of the Indians now and then. 

Presently they reached the main stream. This was much larger, with theshores farther off and clearer, though weird enough in the darkness. Stars were coming out. Jeanne watched them in the deep magnificent blue, golden, white, greenish and with crimson tints. Was the world beyond thestars as beautiful as this? But she knew no one there. She wondered alittle about her mother--was she in that bright sphere? There wasanother Mother--

"O Mother of God, " she cried in her soul, "have pity upon me! I putmyself in thy care. Guard me from evil! Restore me to my home!"

For it seemed, amid these rough savages, she sorely needed a mother'stender care. And she thought now there had been no loving woman in herlife save Pani. Madame Bellestre had petted her, but she had lost herout of her life so soon. There had been the schoolmaster, that she couldstill think of with affection for all his queer fatherly interest andkindness; there was M. Loisel; and oh, Monsieur St. Armand, who wascoming back in the early summer, and had some plans to lay before her. Even M. De Ber had been kindly and friendly, but Madame had neverapproved her. Poor Madame Campeau had come to love her, but often in herwandering moments she called her Berthê. 

The quiet, the lapping of the waves, and perhaps a little fatigueovercame her at length. She dropped back against the Indian's knee, andher soft breath rose and fell peacefully. He drew the blanket up overher. 

"Ugh! ugh!" he ejaculated, but she heard it not. "The tide is good, weshall make the Point before dawn. "

The others nodded. They lighted their pipes, and presently the Indian atthe paddle changed with one of his comrades and they stole on and on, both wind and tide in their favor. Several times their charge stirredbut did not wake. Youth and health had overcome even anxiety. 

There was dawn in the eastern sky. Jeanne roused. 

"Oh, where am I?" she cried in piercing accents; and endeavored tospring up. 

"Thou art safe enough and naught has harmed thee, " was the reply. "Keepquiet, that is all. "

"Oh, where do you mean to take me? I am stiff and cold. Oh, let mechange a little!"

She straightened herself and pulled the blanket over her. The samestolid faces that had refused any satisfaction last night met her gazeagain in blankness. 

There was a broad, open space of water, no longer the river. She glancedabout. A sudden arrow of gold gleamed swiftly across it--then another, and it was a sea of flame with dancing crimson lights. 

"It is the lake, " she said. "Lake Huron. " She had been up thepicturesque shores of the St. Clair river. 

The Indian nodded. 

"You are going north?" A great terror overwhelmed her like a suddenrevelation. 

The answer was a solemn nod. 

"Some one has hired you to do this. "

Not a muscle in any stolid face moved. 

"If I guess rightly will you tell me?"

There was a refusal in the shake of the head. 

Jeanne Angelot at that moment could have leaped from the boat. Yet sheknew it would be of no avail. A chill went through every pulse andturned it to the ice of apprehension. 

The canoe made a turn and ran up an inlet. A great clump of trees hid awigwam until they were in sight of it There was a smoke issuing fromthe rude chimney, and a savory smell permeated the air. Two squaws hadbeen squatted before the blaze of the stone-built fireplace. They bothrose and came down the narrow strip of beach. They were short, the olderone had a squat, ungainly figure of great breadth for the height, and amost forbidding face. The other was much younger. 

Jeanne did not understand the language, but from a few words she guessedit was Huron. It seemed at first as if there was fierce upbraiding fromsome cause, but it settled satisfactorily it would seem. She was helpedout of the canoe. Oh, how good it was to stand free on the ground again!

The Indian who appeared to be the leader of the party took her arm andled her up to the inclosure, the back of which seemed rocks, one piledupon another. The wigwam was set against them. The rude shelter outsidewas the kitchen department, evidently. A huge kettle had been liftedfrom the coals and was still steaming. A bark platter was piled highwith deliciously browned fish, and in spite of her terror and distrustshe felt that she was hungry. 

"If I might have some water, " she asked hesitatingly, --"a drink and someto bathe my face and hands?"

The drink was offered her in a gourd cup. Then the younger woman led herwithin the wigwam. There was a rough earthen bowl filled with water, abit of looking-glass framed in birch bark, a bed, and some rounds oflogs for seats. Around hung articles of clothing, both native made andbought from the traders. 

"I understand Chippewa, " announced Jeanne looking inquiringly at thewoman. 

She put her finger on her lip. Then she said, almost breathlessly, "Weare not to talk to the French demoiselle. "

"But tell me, am I to stay here?"

She gave a negative shake of the head. 

"Am I to go--farther north?"

An affirmative nod this time. 

"Wanee! Wanee!" was called sharply from without. 

Jeanne sank on her knees. 

"O Holy Mother of Christ, have pity on me and save me!" she cried. Forthe vague suspicion that had haunted her since waking, crystallized intoa certainty. Part of a rosary came to her:--

 "Heart of Jesus, refuge of sinners; Heart of Jesus, fortitude of the just; Heart of Jesus, comfort the afflicted. "

Then she rose and made a brief toilet. She shook out her long hair, passing her damp hands over it, and it fell in curls again. Shestraightened her dress, but she still felt chill in the cool morningair. There was a cape of gull's feathers, hanging by the flap of thewigwam, and she reached it down making a sign to the woman askingpermission. 

She nodded assentingly. 

It felt good and warm. Jeanne's breakfast was spread on a board restingon two stones. The squaw had made coffee out of some parched and groundgrains, and it had a comforting flavor. The plate of fish was set beforeher and cakes of honey bread, and her coffee poured in a gourd bowl. Thebirds were singing overhead, and she could hear the lap of the tide inthe lake, a soft tone of monotony. The beauty of it all penetrated hervery soul. Even the group around the great kettle, dipping in theirwooden spoons and gravely chatting, the younger woman smiling and onemight almost imagine teasing them, had a picturesque aspect, andsoftened the thought of what might happen to-morrow. 

They lolled on the turf and smoked pipes afterward. Jeanne paced up anddown within sight of their glances that she knew were fixed upon her inspite of the half-closed lids. It was so good to be free in the fragrantair, to stretch her cramped limbs and feel the soft short grass underher feet. Dozens of wild plans flashed through her brain. But she knewescape was impossible, and she wondered what was to be the next move. Were they awaiting the trader, Louis Marsac?

Plainly they were not. When they were rested and had eaten again and haddrunk a thick liquid made of roots and barks and honey, they rose andwent toward the canoe, as if discussing some matter. They parleyed withthe elder woman, who brought out two blankets and a pine needle cushion, which they threw in the boat, then a bottle of water from the spring, agourd cup and some provisions. 

"Come, " the leader said, not unkindly. "Thou hast had a rest. We must beon our journey. "

Pleading would be in vain, she recognized that. The women could notbefriend her even if they would. So she allowed herself to be helpedinto the canoe, and the men pushed off amid the rather vociferous jargonof the women. She was made much more comfortable than before, though soseated that either brave could reach out his long arm and snatch herfrom any untoward resolve. 

She looked down into the shining waters. Did she really care to trythem? The hope of youth is unbounded and its trust in the futuresublime. She did not want to die. Life was a glad, sweet thing to her, even if full of vague dreams, and she hoped somehow to be delivered fromthis danger, to find a friend raised up for her. Stories of miracles andwonderful rescues floated through her mind. Surely God would not let herfall a prey to this man she both feared and hated. She could feel hisone hot, vicious kiss upon her lips even yet. 

The woods calmed and soothed her with their grays and greens, and theinfrequent birches, tall and slim, with circles of white still aboutthem. Great tree boles stood up like hosts of silent Indian warriors, ready to pounce down on one. They hugged the shore closely, sometimes itwas translucent green, and one could almost catch the darting fisheswith one's hand. Then the dense shade rendered it black, and it seemedbottomless. 

So gliding along, keeping well out of the reach of other craft, thehours growing more tiresome to Jeanne, they passed the Point Aux Barquesand steered across Saginaw bay. Once they had stopped for a little restand a tramp along the shore. Then another evening dropped down uponthem, another night, and Jeanne slept from a sort of exhaustion. 

The next forenoon they landed at one of the islands, where a tradingvessel of considerable size and fair equipment lay at anchor. A man ondeck with a glass had been sighting them. She had not noted himparticularly, in fact she was weary and disheartened with her journeyand her fears. But they made a sudden turn and came up to the vessel, poled around to the shore side, when she was suddenly lifted up bystrong arms and caught by other arms with a motion so rapid she couldnot have struggled if she had wished. And now she was set down almostroughly. 

"Welcome, my fair demoiselle, " said a voice whose triumph was in nodegree disguised. "How shall I ever thank you for this journey you havetaken to meet me? I could have made it pleasanter for you if you wouldhave consented a little earlier. But a willful girl takes her own way, and her way is sweet to the man who loves her, no matter how briery thepath may be. "

Jeanne Angelot was stunned. Then her worst fears were realized. She wasin the power of Louis Marsac. Oh, why had she not thrown herself intothe river; why had she not seized the knife with which they had beencutting venison steak yester morn and ended it all? She tried tospeak--her lips were dry, and her tongue numb as well as dumb. 

He took her arm. As if deprived of resistance she suffered herself to beled forward and then down a few steps. He opened a door. 

"See, " he said, "I have arranged a pretty bower for you, and a servantto wait upon you. And now, Mam'selle Angelot, further refusal isuseless. To-morrow or next day at the latest the priest will make us manand wife. "

"I will never be your wife alive, " she said. Every pulse within hershrank from the desecration. 

"Oh, yes, you will, " and he smiled with a blandness that was maddening. "When we are once married I shall be very sweet and gentle. I shall waitwith such patience that you will learn to pity me at first. My devotionwill be so great that even a heart of marble could not resist. Mam'selle, the sun and the rain will wear away the stoutest rocks intime, and in the split crevices there grows some tiny flower. That isthe way it is with the most resolute woman's heart. And you are not muchmore than a child. Then--you have no lover. "

Jeanne stood spellbound. Was it possible that she should ever come tolove this man? Yet in her childhood she had been very fond of him. Shewas a great puzzle to herself at this moment. All the old charms andfascinations that had been part of the lore of her childhood, weirdstories that Touchas had told, but which were forbidden by the Church, rushed over her. She was full of terror at herself as well as of LouisMarsac. 

He read the changes in her countenance, but he did not understand hershrinking from an abhorred suitor, nor the many fine and delicate linesof restraint that had come to hedge her about, to impress a peculiarresponsibility of her own soul that would be degraded by the bondage. She had seen some of it in other girls mated to coarse natures. 

"My beautiful bird shall have everything. We will go up to the head ofthe great lake where my father has a lodge that is second only to thatof the White Chief. I am his only son. He wishes for my marriage. Jeanne, he will give thee such a welcome as no woman ever had. Thecostliest furs shall be thine, jewels from abroad, servants to come atthe bidding of thy finger--"

"I do not want them!" she interrupted, vehemently. "I have told you I donot want to be the wife of any man. Give me the freedom you have stolenfrom me. Send me back to Detroit. Oh, there must be women ready to marryyou. Let me go. "

Her voice had a piercing sweetness. Even anger could not have made itharsh. She dropped on her knees; she raised her beautiful eyes inpassionate entreaty. 

There was much of the savage Indian in him. He would enjoy hersubjugation. It would begin gently, then he would tighten the cord untilshe had paid back to the uttermost, even to the blow she had given him. But he was too astute to begin here. 

"Thou shalt go back in state as my wife. Ere long my father will be asbig a magnate as the White Chief. Detroit will be proud to honor usboth, when we shall be chiefs of the great copper country. Rise, Star ofthe Morning. Then, whatever thou shalt ask as my wife shall be grantedto thee. "

She rose only to throw herself on the pile of hemlock cushions, facedownward to shut him out of her sight. Was he some strange, evil spiritin a man's shape?

Noko, an old woman, waited on her. If she knew Chippewa or French shewould not use them. She cooked savory messes. At night she slept on themat of skins at the door; during the day she was outside mostly. Thedoor was bolted and locked beside, but both bolt and lock were outside. The window with its small panes of greenish glass was securely fastened. 

Jeanne could tie a band about her neck and choke herself to death. Itwould be horrible to strangle, and she shuddered. She had no weapon ofany kind. The woman watched her while she ate and took away all thedishes when she was through. 

The cabin was not large, but arranged with much taste. The sides werecovered with bark and long strips of Indian embroidery, and curiousplates or tiles of polished stone secured by the corners. On one side aroomy couch raised above the floor, fragrant with newly gathered balsamof fir and sweet grass, and covered with blankets of fine weaves, andskins cured to marvelous softness. Two chairs that were also hung withembroidery done on silk, and a great square wooden seat covered withmottled fawn skin. Bunches of dried, sweet herbs were suspended in thecorners, with curious imitation flowers made of dainty feathers, bits ofbark, and various colored leaves. 

Sometimes she raged like a wild creature in her cage. She would notspeak when Louis entered the room. She had a horrible fear of hisblandishments. There were days and nights, --how many she did not knowfor there was the torture of hundreds comprised in them. Then she weptand prayed. There was the great Manitou Touchas and many of the Indianwomen believed in; there was the good God the schoolmaster had talkedabout, and the minister at the chapel, who had sent his Son to save allwho called upon him, and why not be saved in this world as well as thenext? In heaven all would be safe--yes, it was here that people neededto be saved from a thousand dangers. And there was the good God of theChurch and the Holy Mother and all the blessed saints. Oh, would theynot listen to one poor little girl? She did not want to die. All hervisions of life and love were bounded by dear Detroit, La Belle Detroit. 

 "O Holy Father, hear me! O Blessed Mother of God, hear me! O Precious Son of Mary, hear me!"

she cried on her knees, until a strange peace came to her soul. Shebelieved there would be some miracle for her. There had been forothers. 

At noon, one day, they came to a landing. There was some noise andconfusion, much tramping and swearing. She heard Marsac at the doortalking to Noko in French and the woman answering him. Her heart beat sothat it well-nigh strangled her. But he did not come in. Presently therumbling and unloading were over, and there was no sound but theoscillation of the vessel as it floundered in the tide with short beats, until the turning, and then the motion grew more endurable. If she couldonly see! But from her window there was nothing save an expanse ofwater, dotted with canoes and some distant islands. The cabin was alwaysin semi-twilight. 

There was a fumbling at the door presently. The bolt was drawn, the locksnapped; and the door was opened cautiously. It was neither Noko norMarsac, but some one in a soft, gray blanket, with white borders. Thecorner was thrown over her head. She turned stealthily, took out thekey, and locked the door again on the inside. Then she faced Jeanne whohad half risen, and her blanket fell to the floor. 

A handsome Indian girl, arrayed in a beautiful costume that bespoke rankin the wearer. Across her brow was a fillet made of polished stones thatsparkled like jewels. Her long, black hair nearly reached her knees. Herskin was fine and clear, of a light bronze tint, through which the pinkin her cheeks glowed. Her eyes were larger and softer than most of herrace, of a liquid blackness, her nose was straight and slim, with finenostrils, and her mouth like an opening rose, the under petal fallingapart. 

She came close to the white girl who shrank back terrified at the eyesfixed so resolutely on her. 

"You are the French girl who wants to marry Louis Marsac, " she hissed, between her white teeth. 

"I am a French girl, Jeanne Angelot, and he stole me from Detroit. I donot want to marry him. Oh, no! a thousand times no! I have told him thatI shall kill myself if he forces me to marry him!"

The Indian girl looked amazed. Her hands dropped at her side. Her eyesflickered in wavering lights, and her breath came in gasps. 

"You do not want to marry him?"

Her voice was hoarse, guttural. "Ah, you lie! You make believe! Itcannot be! Why, then, did you come up here? And why has he gone toL'Arbre Croche for the priest he expected?"

"I told you. He hired some Indians to take me from Detroit, after hisboat had left. I would not go. I did not want to marry him and said'_no_' dozens of times. They took me out in a canoe. I think they wereHurons; I did not understand their language. Somewhere--I do not knowwhere we are now, and I cannot remember the days that passed, but theymet the trader's boat and put me on it, and then I knew it was LouisMarsac who had stolen me. Has he gone for a priest? Is that what yousaid? Oh, save me! Help me to escape. I might throw myself into the bay, but I can swim. I should not like to die when life is so sweet andbeautiful, and I am afraid I should try to save myself or some one mightrescue me. Oh, believe it is no lie! I do not want to marry him. "

"You have another lover?" The eyes seemed to pierce her through, as ifsure of an affirmative. 

"I have no lover, not even in Detroit. I do not like love. It is foolishand full of hot kisses, and I do not want to marry. Oh, save me if youhave any pity! Help me to escape!"

She slipped down at the Indian girl's feet and caught at the garment offeathers so smooth and soft it seemed like satin. 

"See here. " The visitor put her hand in her bosom and drew forth a smalldagger with a pearl hilt in which was set jewels. Jeanne shuddered, butremained on her knees, glancing up piteously. 

"See here. I came to kill you. I said no French girl, be she beautifulas moonlight on the lake, shall marry Louis Marsac. He belongs to me. Nowoman shall be folded in his arms or lie on his breast or rejoice in thekisses of his mouth and live! I cannot understand. When one has tastedthe sweetness--and he is so handsome, not so different from his mother'srace but that I am a fit mate for him. My father was a chief, and therewas a quarrel between him and a relative who claimed the right, and hewas killed. Ah, you can never know how good and tender Louis was to me, so different from most of the clumsy Canadian traders; next, I think, tothe great White Chief of the island; yes, handsomer, though not aslarge. All the winter and spring he loved me. And this cabin was mine. Icame here many times. He loves me unless you have stolen his heart withsome evil charm. Stand up; see. I am as tall as you. My skin is fine andclear, if not as pale as the white faces; and yours--pouf! you have norose in your cheeks. Is not my mouth made for kisses? I like those thatburn as fire running through your veins. And my hand--" she caughtJeanne's hand and compared them. "It is as slim and soft, and the pinkis under the nails. And my hair is like a veil, reaching to my knees. Yes, I am a fitter mate than you, who are naught but a child, with noshape that fills a man with admiration. Is it that you have worked someevil charm?"

Jeanne's eyes were distended with horror. Now that death and escape werenear she shrank with the fear of all young things who have known naughtof life but its joy. She could not even beg, her tongue seemedparalyzed. 

They would have made a statue worthy of a sculptor as they stood there, the Indian girl in her splendid attire and the utmost beauty of herrace, with the dagger in one hand; and the girl, pale now as a snowwreath, at her feet. 

"Would you go away, escape?" Some curious thoughts had flashed intoOwaissa's brain. 

"Oh, help me, help me! I will beg my way back to Detroit. I will praythat all his love may be given to you; morning and night I will pray onmy knees. Oh, believe, believe!"

The Indian girl could not doubt her sincerity. But with the injustice ofa passionate, jealous love she did not so much blame her recreantlover. Some charm, some art, must have been used, perhaps by a thirdperson, and the girl be guiltless. And if she could send her away andremain in her stead--

She gave a soft, musical ripple of laughter. So pretty Minnehaha musthave laughed when Longfellow caught the sound in his charmed brain. Sheput up her dagger. She raised Jeanne, wondering, but no longer afraid. This was the miracle she had prayed for and it had come to pass. 

"Listen. You shall go. The night comes on and it is a long sail; but youwill not be afraid. The White Chief will take you in, but when you tellyour story say it was Indians who stole you. For if you bring any harmto Louis Marsac I will follow you and kill you even if it were leaguesbeyond sunset, in the wild land that no one has penetrated. Remember. Promise by the great Manitou. Kiss my hand;" and she held it out. 

Jeanne obeyed. Could escape be so near? Her heart beats almost strangledher. 

"Wanita is my faithful slave. He will do my bidding and you need not beafraid. My canoe lies down below there, " and she indicated the southernend with a motion of her head. "You will take this ring to him and hewill know that the message comes from me. Oh, you will not hesitate?"

Jeanne raised her head proudly. "I will obey you to the letter. But--howwill I find him?"

"You will go off the boat and walk down below the dock. There is a clumpof scrub pines blown awry; then a little cove; the boat lies there; youwill say 'Wanita, ' twice; he will come and you will give him the ring;then he will believe you. "

"But how shall I get off the boat? And how did you get the key? AndNoko--"

"I had a key. It was mine all the early spring. I used to come and wesailed around, but I would not be a wife until a French priest couldmarry us, and he said 'wait, wait, ' and an Indian girl is proud to obeythe man she loves. And when it was time for him to return I came downfrom the Strait and heard--this--that his heart had been stolen from meand that when Father Hugon did not come he was very angry and has goneup to the island. They have much illness there it seems. "

"Then I give you back all I ever had, oh, so gladly. "

"Your father, perhaps, wanted him and saw some woman who dealt incharms?"

"I have no father or mother. A poor old Indian woman cares for me. Shewas my nurse, everything. Oh, her heart will be broken! And this WhiteChief will surely let me go to Detroit?"

"He is good and gracious to all, and just. That is why you must notmention Marsac's name, for he might not understand about the wickedgo-between. There are _shil loups_, spirits of wretched people whowander about making mischief. But I must believe thee. Thine eyes aretruthful. "

She brushed Jeanne's hair from her forehead and looked keenly, questioningly into them. They met the glance with the shine ofinnocence and truth that never wavered in their heavenly blue. 

"The White Chief has boats that go up and down continually. You will getsafely to Detroit. "

"And you?" inquired Jeanne. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

RESCUED. 

"And you?" repeated Jeanne Angelot when Owaissa seemed lost in thought. 

"I shall remain here. When Louis Marsac comes I will break the fatalspell that bound him, and the priest will marry us. I shall make himvery happy, for we are kindred blood; happier than any cool-blooded, pale-face girl could dream. And now you must set out. The sun is goingdown. You will not be faint of heart?"

"I shall be so glad! And I shall be praying to the good Christ and hisMother to make you happy and give you all of Louis Marsac's heart. No, Ishall not be afraid. And you are quite sure the White Chief willbefriend me?"

"Oh, yes. And his wife is of Indian blood, a great Princess from HudsonBay, and the handsomest woman of the North, the kindest and mostgenerous to those in sorrow or trouble. The White Queen she is called. Oh, yes, if I had a sister that needed protection, I should send her tothe White Queen. Oh, do not be afraid. " Then she took both of Jeanne'shands in hers and kissed her on the forehead. "I am glad I did not haveto kill you, " she added with the naïve innocence of perfect truth. "Ithink you are the kind of girl out of whom they make nuns, who care forno men but the fathers, and yet they must adore some one. In thy conventcell pray for me that I may have brave sons. "

Jeanne made no protest against the misconstruction. Her heart was filledwith gratitude and wonder, yet she could hardly believe. 

"You must take my blanket, " and Owaissa began draping it about her. 

"But--Noko?" said the French girl. 

"Noko is soundly asleep. And the sailors are throwing dice or drinkingrum. Their master cannot be back until dark. Go your way proudly, as ifyou had the blood of a hundred braves in your veins. They are often acowardly set, challenging those who are weak and fearful. Do not mind. "

"Oh, the good Father bless you forevermore. " Jeanne caught the hands andcovered them with kisses. "And you will not be afraid of--of _his_anger?"

"I am not afraid. I am glad I came, though it was with such a desperatepurpose. Here is my ring, " and she slipped it on Jeanne's finger. "Giveit to Wanita when you are landed. He is faithful to me and this is ourseal. "

She unlocked the door. Noko was in a little heap on the mat, snoring. 

"Go straight over. Never mind the men. You will see the plank, and thengo round the little point. Adieu. I wish thee a safe voyage home. "

Jeanne pressed the hands again. She was like one in a dream. She feltafraid the men would question her, perhaps order her back. Two of themwere asleep. She tripped down the plank, turned the corner of the dockand saw the clump of trees. Still she hardly dared breathe until she hadpassed it and found the canoe beached, and a slim young Indian pacing upand down. 

"Wanita, Wanita!" she exclaimed, timorously. 

He studied her in surprise. Yes, that was her blanket. "Mistress--"going closer, and then hesitating. 

"Here is her ring, Owaissa's ring. And she bade me--she stays on theboat. Louis Marsac comes with a priest. "

"Then it was a lie, an awful black lie they told my mistress about hismarrying a French girl! By all the moons in a twelvemonth she is hiswife. And you--" studying her with severe scrutiny. 

"I am the French girl. It was a mistake. But I must get away, and shesends me to the White Chief. She said one could trust you to the death. "

"I would go to the death for my beautiful mistress. The WhiteChief--yes. "

Then he helped her into the canoe and made her comfortable with theblankets. 

"I wish it were earlier, " he exclaimed. "The purple spirits of the nightare stretching out their hands. You will not be afraid? It is a longpull. "

"Oh, no, no!" She drew a relieved breath, but every pulse had been soweighted with anxiety for days that she could not realize her freedom. Oh, how good the blessed air felt! All the wide expanse about herbrought a thrill of delight, still not unmixed with fear. A boat camebearing down upon them and she held her breath, but the canoe movedaside adroitly. 

"They were drunken fellows, no doubt, " said Wanita. "It is told of theSieur Cadillac that he weakened the rum and would allow a man only somuch. It is a pity there is no such strictness now. The White Chieftries. "

"Is he chief of the Indians?" she asked, vaguely. 

"Oh, no. He is in the great council of the fur traders, but he has everbeen fair to the Indians; strict, too, and they honor him, believe inhim, and do his bidding. That is, most of them do. He settles manyquarrels. It is not now as it used to be. Since the coming of the whitemen tribes have been split in parts and chiefs of the same nation fightfor power. He tries to keep peace between them and the whites. Therewould be many wars without him. "

"But he is not an Indian?"

"Oh, no. He came from Canada to the fur country. He had known greatsorrow. His wife and child had been massacred by the red men. And thenhe married a beautiful Indian princess somewhere about Hudson Bay. Hehad so many men under him that they called him the White Chief, andpartly, I think, because he was so noble and large and grand. Then hebuilt his house on the island where one side is perpendicular rocks, andfortified it and made of it a most lovely home for his beautiful wife. She has everything from all countries, it is said, and the house isgrand as the palaces at Montreal. They have two sons. They come over toFort St. Ignace and Michilimackinac, and he has taken her to Quebec, where, it is said, she was entertained like a queen. He is very proud ofher and adores her. Ah, if you could see him you would know at once thathe was a grand man. But courageous and high spirited as he is, he isalways counseling peace. There is much bitter feeling still between theFrench and English, and now, since the Americans have conquered, theEnglish are stirring up strife with the Indians, it is said. He advisesthem to make homes and settle peaceably, and hunt at the north wherethere is still plenty of game. He has bought tracts of land for them, but my nation are not like the white men. They despise work. " Jeanneknew that well. 

Then Wanita asked her about Detroit. He had been up North; his mistresshad lived at Mackinaw and St. Ignace. All the spring she had been aboutLake Superior, which was grand, and the big lake on the other side, LakeMichigan. Sometimes he had cared for M. Marsac's boat. 

"M. Marsac was your lady's lover. "

"Oh, Mam'selle, he was devoted before he went to Detroit. He is rich andhandsome, you see, and there are many women smiling on him. There wereat Mackinaw. The white ladies do not mind a little Indian blood whenthere is money. But Owaissa is for him, and she will be as grand a ladyas the White Queen. "

Wanita wished in his secret soul Louis Marsac was as grand as the WhiteChief. But few men were. 

And now the twilight was gone and the broad sheet of water was weird, moving blackness. The canoe seemed so frail, that used as she was to itJeanne drew in fear with every breath. If there were only a moon! It wascold, too. She drew the blanket closer round her. 

"Are we almost there?" she inquired. 

"Oh, no, Mam'selle. Are you tired? If you could sing to pass away thetime. "

Jeanne essayed some French songs, but her heart was not light enough. Then they lapsed into silence. On and on--there was no wind and theywere out of the strongest current, so there was no danger. 

What was Owaissa doing, thinking? Had Louis Marsac returned with thepriest? Was it true she had come to kill her, Jeanne? How strange oneshould love a man so deeply, strongly! She shuddered. She had only caredfor quiet and pleasant wanderings and Pani. Perhaps it was all somehorrid dream. Or was it true one could be bewitched?

Sometimes she drowsed. She recalled the night she had slept against theHuron's knee. Would the hours or the journey ever come to an end? Shesaid over the rosary and all the prayers she could remember, interspersing them with thanksgivings to the good God and to Owaissa. 

Something black and awful loomed up before her. She uttered a cry. 

"We are here. It is nothing to be afraid of. We go around to this side, so. There is a little basin here, and a sort of wharf. It is almost afort;" and he laughed lightly as he helped her out on to dry ground, stony though it was. 

"I will find the gate. The White Chief has this side well picketed, andthere are enough within to defend it against odds, if the odds evercome. Now, here is the gate and I must ring. Do not be frightened, it isalways closed at dusk. "

The clang made Jeanne jump, and cling to her guide. 

There was a step after a long while. A plate was pushed partly aside anda voice said through the grating:--

"What is it?"

"It is I, Wanita, Loudac. I have some one who has been in danger, alittle maid from Detroit, stolen away by Indians. My mistress Owaissabegs shelter for her until she can be returned. It was late when she wasrescued from her enemies and we stole away by night. "

"How many of you?"

"The maid and myself, and--our canoe, " with a light laugh. "The canoe isfastened to a stake. And I must go back, so there is but one to throwupon your kindness. "

"Wait, " said the gate keeper. There were great bolts to be withdrawn andchains rattled. Presently the creaking gate opened a little way and thelight of a lantern flared out. Jeanne was dazed for an instant. 

"I will not come in, good Loudac. It is a long way back and my mistressmay need me. Here is the maid, " and he gave Jeanne a gentle push. 

"From Detroit?" The interlocutor was a stout Canadian and seemedgigantic to Jeanne. "And 'scaped from the Indians. Lucky they did notspell, it with another letter and leave no top to thy head. Wanita, lad, thou hadst better come in and have a sup of wine. Or remain all night. "

But Wanita refused with cordial thanks. 

"Here is the ring;" and Jeanne pressed it in his hand. "And a thousandthanks, tell your brave mistress. "

With a quick adieu he was gone. 

"I must find shelter for you to-night, for our lady cannot bedisturbed, " he said. "Come this way. "

The bolts and chains were put in place again. Jeanne followed her guideup some steps and through another gate. There was a lodge and a lightwithin. A woman in a short gown of blue and a striped petticoat lookedout of the doorway and made a sharp inquiry. 

"A maid who must tell her own story, good dame, for my wits seemscattered. She hath been sent by Owaissa the Indian maiden and broughtby her servitor in a canoe. Tell thy story, child. "

"She is shivering with the cold and looks blue as a midwinter icicle. She must have some tea to warm her up. Stir a fire, Loudac. "

Jeanne sat trembling and the tears ran down her cheeks. In a momentthere was a fragrant blaze of pine boughs, and a kettle swung over them. 

"A little brandy would be better, " said the man. 

Now that the strain was over Jeanne felt as if all her strength hadgiven way. Was she really safe? The hearty French accent sounded likehome; and the dark, round face, with the almost laughing black eyes, albeit there were wrinkles around them, cheered her inmost heart. Thetea was soon made and the brandy added a piquant flavor. 

"Thou wert late starting on thy journey, " said the woman, a tint ofsuspicion in her voice. 

"It was only this afternoon that the Indian maid Owaissa found me andheard my story. For safety she sent me away at once. Perhaps in thedaytime I might have been pursued. "

"True, true. An Indian knows best about Indian ways. Most of them are atreacherous, bad lot, made much worse by drink, but there are a few. Themaiden Owaissa comes from the Strait. "

"To meet her lover it was said. He is that handsome half or quarterbreed, Louis Marsac, a shrewd trader for one so young, and who, with hisfather, is delving in the copper mines of Lake Superior. Yes. What wentbefore, child?"

She was glad to leave Marsac. Could she tell her story withoutincriminating him? The first part went smoothly enough. Then shehesitated and felt her color rising. "It was at Bois Blanc, " she said. "They had left me alone. The beautiful Indian girl was there, and Ibegged her to save me. I told her my story and she wrapped me in herblanket. We were much the same size, and though I trembled so that myknees bent under me, I went off the boat without any question. Wanitawas waiting with the canoe and brought me over. "

"Were you not afraid--and there was no moon?"

Jeanne raised her eyes to the kindly ones. 

"Oh, yes, " she answered with a shiver. "Lake Huron is so large, onlythere are islands scattered about. But when it grew very dark I simplytrusted Wanita. "

"And he could go in a canoe to the end of the world if it was all lakesand rivers, " exclaimed Loudac. "These Indians--did you know theirtribe?"

"I think two were Hurons. They could talk bad French, " and she smiled. "And Chippewa, that I can understand quite well. "

"Were your relatives in Detroit rich people?"

"Oh, no, I have none. " Then Jeanne related her simple story. 

"Strange! strange!" Loudac stroked his beard and drew his bushy eyebrowstogether. "There could have been no thought of ransom. I mistrust, pretty maid, that it must have been some one who watched thee and wantedthee for his squaw. Up in the wild North there would have been littlechance to escape. Thou hast been fortunate in finding Owaissa. Herlover's boat came in at Bois Blanc. I suppose she went to meet him. Dame, it is late, and the child looks tired as one might well be after along journey. Canst thou not find her a bed?"

The bed was soon improvised. Jeanne thanked her protectors withoverflowing eyes and tremulous voice. For a long while she knelt inthanksgiving, her simple faith discerning a real miracle in her escape. Surely God had sent Owaissa. She forgot the fell purpose of the Indiangirl, and wondered at her love for Louis Marsac. 

There was much confusion and noise among the children the next morningwhile the dame was giving them their breakfast, but Jeanne slept soundlyuntil they were all out at play. The sun shone as she opened her eyes, and one ray slanted across the window. Oh, where was she, in prisonstill? Then, by slow degrees, yesterday came back to her. 

The dame greeted her cheerily, and set before her a simple breakfastthat tasted most delicious. Loudac had gone up to the great house. 

"For when the White Chief is away, Loudac has charge of everything. Oncehe saved the master's life, he was his servant then, and since that timehe has been the head of all matters. The White Chief trusts him like abrother. But look you, both of them came from France and there is nomixed blood in them. Rough as Loudac seems his mother was of gentlebirth, and he can read and write not only French but English, and is ajudge of fine furs and understands business. He is shrewd to know peopleas well, " and she gave a satisfied smile. 

"The White Chief is away--"

"He has gone up to Michilimackinac, perhaps to Hudson Bay. But all goeson here just the same. Loudac has things well in hand. "

"I would like to return to Detroit, " ventured Jeanne, timidly, glancingup with beseeching eyes. 

"That thou shalt, _ma petite_. There will be boats going down beforecold weather. The winter comes early here, and yet it is not so cold asone would think, with plenty of furs and fire. "

"And the--the queen--" hesitatingly. 

The dame laughed heartsomely. 

"Thou shalt see her. She is our delight, our dear mistress, and has manynames given her by her loving chief. It is almost ten years ago that hefound her up North, a queen then with a little band of braves who adoredher. They had come from some far country. She was not of their tribe;she is as white almost as thou, and tall and handsome and soft of voiceas the sweetest singing bird. Then they fell in love with each other, and the good père at Hudson Bay married them. He brought her here. Shebought the island because it seemed fortified with the great rocks ontwo sides of it. Often they go away, for he has a fine vessel that islike a palace in its fittings. They have been to Montreal and out onthat wild, strange coast full of islands. Whatever she wishes is hers. "

Jeanne sighed a little, but not from envy. 

"There are two boys, twins, and a little daughter born but two yearsago. The boys are big and handsome, and wild as deer. But their fatherwill have them run and climb and shout and play ball and shoot arrows, but not go out alone in a boat. Yet they can swim like fishes. Come, ifyou can eat no more breakfast, let us go out. I do not believe Detroitcan match this, though it is larger. "

There was a roadway about the palisades with two gates near either end, then a curiously laid up stone wall where the natural rocks had failed. Here on this plateau were cottages and lodges. Canadians, some trustyIndians, and a sprinkling of half-breeds made a settlement, it wouldseem. There were gardens abloom, fruit trees and grapevines, making apleasant odor in the early autumnal sun. There were sheep pasturing, aherd of tame, beautiful deer, cows in great sheds, and fowldomesticated, while doves went circling around overhead. Still anotherwall almost hid the home of the White Chief, the name he was best knownby, and as one might say at that time a name to conjure with, for he wasreally the manipulator of many of the Indian tribes, and endeavored tokeep the peace among them and deal fairly with them in the fur trading. To the English he had proved a trusty neighbor, to the French a truefriend, though his advice was not always palatable. 

"Oh, it is beautiful!" cried Jeanne. "Something like the farms outsideof the palisades at home. Inside--" she made a pretty gesture ofdissatisfaction, --"the town is crowded and dirty and full of bad smells, except at the end where some of the officers and the court people andthe rich folk live. They are building some new places up by the militarygardens and St. Anne's Church, and beside the little river, whereeverything keeps green and which is full of ducks and swans and herons. And the great river is such a busy place since the Americans came. Butthey have not so many soldiers in the garrison, and we miss the glitterof the scarlet and the gold lace and the music they used to have. Stillthe flag is beautiful; and most people seem satisfied. I like theAmericans, " Jeanne said proudly. 

The dame shook her head, but not in disapprobation altogether. 

"The world is getting much mixed, " she said. "I think the English stillfeel bitter, but the French accept. Loudac hears the White Chief talk ofa time when all shall live together peaceably and, instead of trying todestroy each other and their cities and towns, they will join hands inbusiness and improvement. For that is why the Indians perish and leaveso few traces, --they are bent upon each other's destruction, so thevillages and fields are laid waste and people die of starvation. Thereare great cities in Europe, I have heard, that have stood hundreds ofyears, and palaces and beautiful churches, and things last through manygenerations. Loudac was in a town called Paris, when he was a littleboy, and it is like a place reared by fairy hands. "

"Oh, yes, Madame, it is a wonderful city. I have read about it and seenpictures, " said Jeanne, eagerly. 

"There are books and pictures up at the great house. And here comesLoudac. "

"Ha! my bright Morning Star, you look the better for a night's sleep. Ihave been telling Miladi about our frightened refugee, and she wishes tosee you. Will it please you to come now?"

Jeanne glanced from one to the other. 

"Oh, you need not feel afraid, you that have escaped Indians and crossedthe lake in the night. For Miladi, although the wife of the great WhiteChief, and grand enough when necessary, is very gentle and kindly; isshe not, dame?"

The dame laughed. "Run along, _petite_, " she said. "I must attend to thehouse. "

Inside this inclosure there was a really beautiful garden, a tiny parkit might be justly called. Birds of many kinds flew about, others ofstrange plumage were in latticed cages. The walks were winding to makethe place appear larger; there was a small lake with water plants andswans, and beds of brilliant flowers, trees that gave shade, vines thatdistributed fragrance with every passing breeze. Here in a dainty nest, that was indeed a vine-covered porch, sat a lady in a chair thatsuggested a throne to Jeanne, who thought she had never seen anyone sobeautiful. She was not fair like either English or French, but theadmixture of blood had given her a fine, creamy skin and large brownisheyes that had the softness of a fawn's. Every feature was clearly cutand perfect. Jeanne thought of a marble head that stood on the shelf ofthe minister's study at Detroit that was said to have come from a farcountry called Italy. 

As for her attire, that was flowered silk and fine lace, and some jewelson her arms and fingers in golden settings that glittered like the raysof sunrise when she moved them. There were buckles of gems on herslippers, and stockings of strangely netted silk where the ivory fleshshone through. 

Jeanne dropped on her knees at the vision, and it smiled on her. Nosaint at the Recollet house was half as fair. 

"This is the little voyager cast upon our shore, Miladi, " explainedLoudac with a bow and a touch of his hand to his head. "But Wanita didnot wreck her, only left her in our safe keeping until she can bereturned to her friends. "

"Sit here, Mam'selle, " and Miladi pointed to a cushion near her. HerFrench was musical and soft. "It is quite a story, and not such anunusual one either. Many maidens, I think, have been taken from home andfriends, and have finally learned to be satisfied with a life they wouldnot have chosen. You came from Detroit, Loudac says. "

"Yes, Miladi, " Jeanne answered, timidly. 

"Do not be afraid. " The lady laughed with ripples like a little streamdropping over pebbly ways. "There is a story that my mother shared alike fate, only she had to grow content with strange people and astrange land. How was it? I have a taste for adventures. "

Jeanne's girlish courage and spirits came back in a flash. Yet she toldher story carefully, bridging the little space where so much was leftout. 

"Owaissa is a courageous maiden. It is said she carries a dagger whichshe would not be afraid to use. She has some strange power over theIndians. Her father was wronged out of his chieftaincy and thenmurdered. She demanded the blood price, and his enemies were given up tothe tribe that took her under their protection. Yet I wonder a littlethat she should choose Louis Marsac. The White Chief, my husband, doesnot think him quite true in all his dealings, especially with women. Butif he trifled with her there would be a tragedy. "

Jeanne shuddered. The tragedy had come so near. 

Miladi asked some questions hard for Jeanne to answer with truth; howshe had come up the lake, and if her captors had treated her well. 

"It seems quite mysterious, " she said. 

Then they talked about Detroit, and Jeanne's past life, and Miladi wasmore puzzled than ever. 

A slim young Indian woman brought in the baby, a dainty girl of twoyears old, who ran swiftly to her mother and began chattering in Frenchwith pretty broken words, and looking shyly at the guest. Then there wasa great shout and a rush as of a flock of birds. 

"I beat Gaston, maman, six out of ten shots. "

"But two arrows broke. They were good for nothing, " interrupted thesecond boy. 

"And can't Antoine take us out fishing--" the boy stopped and came closeto Jeanne, wonderingly. 

"This is Mademoiselle Jeanne, " their mother said, "Robert and Gaston. Being twins there is no elder. "

They were round, rosy, sunburned boys, with laughing eyes and lithefigures. 

"Can you swim?" queried Robert. 

"Oh, yes, " and a bright smile crossed Jeanne's face. 

"And paddle a canoe and row?"

"Yes, indeed. Many a time in the Strait, with the beautiful green shoresopposite. "

"What strait, Mackinaw?"

"Oh, no. It is the river Detroit, but often called a strait. "

"You can't manage a bow!" declared Robert. 

"Yes. And fire a pistol. And--run. "

"And climb trees?" The dark eyes were alight with mirth. 

"Why, yes. " Then Jeanne glanced deprecatingly at Miladi, so elegant, sorefined, if the word had come to her, but it remained in the chaos ofthought. "I was but a wild little thing in childhood, and there was noone except Pani--my Indian nurse. "

"Then come and run a race. The Canadians are clumsy fellows. "

Robert grasped her arm. Gaston stood tilted on one foot, as if he couldfly. 

"Oh, boys, you are too rough! Mam'selle will think you worse than wildIndians. "

"I should like to run with them, Miladi. " Jeanne's eyes sparkled, andshe was a child again. 

"As thou wilt. " Miladi smiled and nodded. So much of the delight of hersoul was centered in these two handsome, fearless boys beloved by theirfather. Once she remembered she had felt almost jealous. 

"I will give you some odds, " cried Jeanne. "I will not start until youhave reached the pole of the roses. "

"No! no! no!" they shouted. "Girls cannot run at the end of the race. There we will win, " and they laughed gayly. 

They were fleet as deer. Jeanne did not mean to outstrip them, but shewas seized with enthusiasm. It was as if she had wings to her feet andthey would not lag, even if the head desired it. She was breathless, with flying hair and brilliant color, as she reached the goal and turnedto see two brave but disappointed faces. 

"I told you it was not fair, " she began. "I am larger than you, tallerand older. You should have had odds. "

"But we can always beat Berthê Loudac, and she is almost as big as you. And some of the Indian boys. "

"Let us try it again. Now I will give you to the larch tree. "

They started off, looking back when they reached that point and saw hercome flying. She was not so eager now and held back toward the last. Gaston came in with a shout of triumph and in two seconds Robert was atthe goal. She laughed joyously. Their mother leaning over a railinglaughed also and waved her handkerchief as they both glanced up. 

"How old are you?" asked Robert. 

"Almost sixteen, I believe. "

"And we are eight. "

"That is twice as old. "

"And when we are sixteen we will run twice as fast, faster than theIndians. We shall win the races. We are going up North then. Don't youwant to go?"

Jeanne shook her head. 

"But then girls do not go fur hunting. Only the squaws follow, to makethe fires and cook the meals. And you would be too pretty for a squaw. You must be a lady like maman, and have plenty of servants. Oh, we willask father to bring you a husband as strong and nice and big as he is!And then he will build you a lodge here. No one can have such a splendidhouse as maman; he once said so. "

"Come down to the palisade. "

They ran down together. The inhabitants of the cottages and lodgeslooked out after them, they were so gay and full of frolic. The gate wasopen and Robert peered out. Jeanne took a step forward. She was anxiousto see what was beyond. 

"Don't. " Gaston put out his arm to bar her. "We promised never to gooutside without permission. Only a coward or a thief tells lies andbreaks his word. If we could find Loudac. "

Loudac had gone over to Manitou. The dame had been baking some brownbread with spice seeds in it, and she gave them all a great slice. Howgood it tasted! Then they were off again, and when they reached thehouse their mother had gone in, for the porch was hot from the sun. 

Jeanne had never seen anything like it. The walls seemed set withwonderful stones and gems, some ground to facets. Long strips ofembroidery in brilliant colors and curious designs parted them likeframes. Here a border of wampum shells, white, pale grayish, pink andpurple; there great flowers made of shells gathered from the shores oflakes and rivers. At the far end of the room were two Indian girlsworking on bead embroidery, another sewing rows of beautiful feathers ina border. 

The boys were eager to rehearse their good time. 

"If they have not tired you to death, " said their mother. 

Jeanne protested that she had enjoyed it quite as much. 

"It is a luxury to have a new playfellow now that their father is away. They are so fond of him. Sometimes we all go. "

"When will he return, Madame?"

"In a fortnight or so. Then he takes the long winter journey. That is amore dreary time, but we shut ourselves up and have blazing fires andwork and read, and the time passes. There is the great hope at the end, "and she gave an exquisite smile. 

"But--Miladi--how can I get back to Detroit?"

"Must thou go?" endearingly. "If there are no parents--"

"But there is my poor Pani! And Detroit that I am so familiar with. ThenI dare say they are all wondering. "

"Loudac will tell us when he comes back. "

Loudac had a budget of news. First there had been a marriage that verymorning on the "Flying Star, " the pretty boat of Louis Marsac, andOwaissa was the bride. There had been a feast given to the men, and theyoung mistress had stood before them to have her health drunk andreceive the good wishes and a belt of wampum, with a lovely whitedoeskin cloak that was like velvet. Then they had set sail for LakeSuperior. 

Jeanne was very glad of the friendly twilight. She felt her face growred and cold by turns. 

"And the maiden Owaissa will be very happy, " she said half in assertion, half inquiry. 

"He is smart and handsome, but tricky at times, and overfond of brandy. But if a girl gets the man she wants all is well for a time, at least. "

The next bit of news was that the "Return" would go to Detroit in fouror five days. 

"Not direct, which will be less pleasant. For she goes first over toBarre, and then crosses the lake again and stops at Presque Isle. Afterthat it is clear sailing. A boat of hides and freight goes down, butthat would not be pleasant. To-morrow I will see the captain of the'Return. '"

"Thou wouldst not like a winter among us here?" inquired the dame. "Itis not so bad, and the boys at the great house are wild over thee. "

"Oh, I must go, " Jeanne said, with breathless eagerness. "I shallremember all your kindness through my whole life. "

"Home is home, " laughed good-humored Loudac. 

Very happy and light-hearted was Jeanne Angelot. There would be nothingmore to fear from Louis Marsac. How had they settled it, she wondered. 

Owaissa had said that she sent the child home under proper escort. LouisMarsac ground his teeth, and yet--did he care so much for the girl onlyto gratify a mean revenge for one thing?--the other he was not quitesure of. At all events Jeanne Angelot would always be the loser. TheDetroit foundling, --and he gave a short laugh like the snarl of a dog. 

Delightful as everything was, Jeanne counted the days. She was up at thegreat house and read to its lovely mistress, sang and danced with babyAngelique, taking hold of the tiny hands and swinging round in gracefulcircles, playing games with the boys and doing feats, and trying tolaugh off the lamentations, which sometimes came near to tears. 

"How strange, " said Miladi the last evening, "that we have never heardyour family name. Or--had you none?"

"Oh, yes, Madame. Some one took good care of that. It was written on apaper pinned to me; and, " laughing, "pricked into my skin so I could notdeny it. It is Jeanne Angelot. But there are no Angelots in Detroit. "

Miladi grasped her arm so tightly that Jeanne's breath came with aflutter. 

"Are there none? Are you quite sure?" There was a strained sound in hervoice wont to be so musical. 

"Oh, yes. Father Rameau searched. "

Miladi dropped her arm. 

"It grows chilly, " she said, presently. "Shall we go in, or--" Somehowher voice seemed changed. 

"I had better run down to the dame's. Good night, Miladi. I have been sohappy. It is like a lovely dream of the summer under the trees. I amsorry I cannot be content to stay;" and she kissed the soft hand, thatnow was cold. 

Miladi made no reply. Only she stood still longer in the cold, andmurmured, "Jeanne Angelot, Jeanne Angelot. " And then she recalled alaughing remark of Gaston's only that morning:--

"Jeanne has wintry blue eyes like my father's! Look, maman, the frostalmost sparkles in them. And he says his came from the wonderful skiesabove the Arctic seas. Do you know where that is?"

No, Jeanne did not know where that was. But there were plenty ofblue-eyed people in Detroit. 

She ran down the steps in the light of the young crescent moon, andrubbed her arm a little where the fingers had almost made a dent. 

The next day the "Return" touched at the island. It was not at all outof her way, and the captain and Loudac were warm friends. The boys clungto Jeanne and would hardly let her go. 

"I wish my father could buy you for another sister, " exclaimed Gastonhanging to her skirt. "If he were here he would not let you go, I amquite sure. It will take such a long while for Angelique to grow up, andthen we shall be men. "

Did Miladi give her a rather formal farewell? It seemed as if somethingchilled Jeanne. 

Loudac and the dame were effusive enough to make amends. The "Return"was larger but not as jaunty as the "Flying Star, " and it smelledstrongly of salt fish. But Jeanne stepped joyously aboard--was she notgoing to La Belle Detroit? All her pulses thrilled with anticipation. Home! How sweet a word it was!

CHAPTER XVII. 

A PÆAN OF GLADNESS. 

Jeanne's little cabin was very plain, but the window gave a nice lookoutand could be opened at will. They would cross the lake and go down toBarre on the Canada side, and that would give a different view. Was theocean so very much larger, she wondered in her inexperienced fashion. 

They passed a few boats going up. It was curiously lonely, with greatreaches of stunted pines and scrubby hemlocks, then a space of rathersandy shore and wiry grasses that reared themselves stiffly. There wasnothing to read. And now she wished for some sewing. She was glad enoughwhen night came. The next morning the sky was overcast and there was adull, threatening wind. 

"If we can make Barre before it storms, " said Captain Mallard. "There isa good harbor, and a fierce east wind would drive us back to the otherside. "

They fortunately made Barre before the storm broke in all itsfierceness, but it was terrible! There was a roar over the lake as if adrove of bisons were tearing madly about. The great waves pounded andbattered against the sides of the vessel as if they would break through, and the surf flew up from the point that jutted out and made the harbor. Gulls and bitterns went screaming, and Jeanne held her breath in veryterror. Earth and lake and sky were one vast picture of desolation, forwhere the eye stopped the mind went on. 

All night and all the next day the storm continued beating and bruising. But at evening the wind fell, and Jeanne gave thanks with a hearty andhumble mind, and slept that night. When she woke the sun was strugglingthrough a sky of gray, with some faint yellow and green tints that cameand went as if not sure of their way. By degrees a dull red commingledwith them and a sulky sun showed his face. 

"It is well we were in a safe port, Mam'selle, for the storm has beenterrible, " explained the worthy captain. "As it is, in the darkness wehave lost one man overboard, and a day must be spent in repairing. Thelittle town is not much, but it might be a rest to go ashore. "

"Yes, " said Jeanne, rather absently. 

"If you have a good blanket--the cold has sprung up suddenly. It issquaw winter, which comes sooner you know, like a woman's temper, andspends itself, clearing the way for smiles again. "

Dame Loudac had given her a fur cap with lappets that made a hood of it. She had Owaissa's blanket, and some warm leggings. The captain helpedher ashore, but it was a most uncheerful outlook. A few streets withroughly built cottages, some shops at the wharf, a packing house withthe refuse of fish about, and a wide stretch of level land on which thewind had swept the trees so fiercely that most of them leaned westward. 

"Oh, how can anyone live here!" cried Jeanne with a shiver, contrastingit with the beautiful island home of the White Chief. 

The inhabitants were mostly French, rugged, with dull faces and clumsyfigures. They looked curiously at Jeanne and then went on with theirvarious employments. 

But the walk freshened her and dispelled the listlessness. She gathereda few shells on one strip of sandy beach, and watched many curiouscreeping things. A brown lizard glided in and out of some tufts of sedgegrass; a great flock of birds high up in the air went flying southward. Many gulls ran along with their shrill cries. 

Oh, if she were at home! Would she ever reach there? For now gay-heartedJeanne seemed suddenly dispirited. 

All the day kept cold, though at sunset the western sky blazed out withglory and the wind died down. Captain Mallard would not start untilmorning, however, and though the air had a keenness in it the sun gaveout a promising warmth. 

Then they made Presque Isle, where there was much unloading, and somestores to be taken on board. After that it grew warmer and Jeanneenjoyed being on deck, and the memory of how she had come up the lakewas like a vague dream. They sailed past beautiful shores, islands wherevegetation was turning brown and yellow; here marshes still a vividgreen, there great clumps of trees with scarlet branches dancing in thesun, the hickories beginning to shrivel and turn yellow, the evergreensblack in the shady places. At night the stars came out and the moonswelled in her slender body, her horns losing their distinct outlines. 

But Jeanne had no patience even with the mysterious, beautiful night. The autumn was dying slowly, and she wondered who brought wood for Pani;if she sat by the lonely fire! It seemed months since she had been takenaway. 

Yes, here was the familiar lake, the shores she knew so well. She couldhave danced for very gladness, though her eyes were tear-wet. And hereit narrowed into the river, and oh, was there ever such a blessed sight!Every familiar point looked beautiful to her. There were some boatshurrying out, the captains hoping to make a return trip. But thecrowded, businesslike aspect of summer was over. 

They pushed along to the King's wharf. It seemed to her all were strangefaces. Was it really Detroit? St. Anne's bell came rolling down itssweet sound. The ship crunched, righted itself, crunched again, the ropewas thrown out and made fast. 

"Mam'selle, " said the captain, "we are in. "

She took his hand, the mute gratitude in her eyes, in her whole face;its sweetness touched him. 

"I hope you will find your friends well. "

"Oh, thank you!" she cried, with a long drawn breath. "Yes, that is myprayer. "

He was handing her off. The crowd, not very large, indeed, was all ablur before her eyes. She touched the ground, then she dropped on herknees. 

"No, no, " to some one who would have raised her. "I must say a prayer, for I have come back to my own loved Detroit, my home. Oh, let me givethanks. "

"The saints be praised! It is Jeanne Angelot. "

She rose as suddenly as she had knelt. Up the narrow street she ran, while the astonished throng looked after her. 

"Holy Mother defend us!" and a man crossed himself devoutly. "It is noliving being, it is a ghost. "

For she had disappeared. The wondering eyes glanced on vacancy, stupefied. 

"I said she was dead from the first. She would never have gone off andleft the poor Pani woman to die of grief. She sits there alone day afterday, and now she will not eat, though Dame Margot and the Indian womanWenonah try to comfort her. And this is Jeanne's spirit come for her. You will find her dead body in the cottage. Ah, I have seen the sign. "

"It was a strange disappearance!"

"The captain can tell, " said another, "for if she was rescued from theIndians he must have brought her down. "

"Yes, yes, " and they rushed in search of the captain, wild withsuperstition and excitement. 

It was really Jeanne Angelot. She had been rescued and left at BoisBlanc, and then taken over to another island. A pretty, sweet young girland no ghost, Jeanne Angelot by name. 

Jeanne sped on like a sprite, drawing her cap over her face. Ah, thefamiliar ways and sights, the stores here, the booths shut, for theoutdoors trade was mostly over, the mingled French and English, thepatois, the shouts to the horses and dogs and to the pedestrians to getout of the way. She glanced up St. Anne's street, she passed thebarrack, where some soldiers sat in the sunshine cleaning up theiraccouterments. Children were playing games, as the space was wider here. The door of the cottage was closed. There was a litter on the steps, dead leaves blown into the corners and crushed. 

"O Pani! Pani!" she cried, and her heart stood still, her limbstrembled. 

The door was not locked. The shutter had been closed and the room wasdark, coming out of the sunshine. There was not even a blaze on thehearth. A heap of something at the side--her sight grew clearer, ablanketed bundle, oh, yes--

"Pani! Pani!" she cried again, all the love and longing of months in hervoice--"Pani, it is I, Jeanne come back to you. Oh, surely God would notlet you die now!"

She was tearing away the wrappings. She found the face and kissed itwith a passion of tenderness. It was cold, but not with the awfulcoldness of death. The lips murmured something. The hands took hold ofher feebly. 

"It is Jeanne, " she cried again, "your own Jeanne, who loves you withall her heart and soul, Jeanne, whom the good God has sent back to you, "and then the tears and kisses mingled in a rain on the poor old wrinkledface. 

"Jeanne, " Pani said in a quavering voice, in which there was norealizing joy. Her lifeless fingers touched the warm, young face, wetwith tears. "_Petite_ Jeanne!"

"Your own Jeanne come back to you. Oh, Pani, you are cold and there isno fire. And all this dreary time--but the good God has sent me back, and I shall stay always, always--"

She ran and opened the shutter. The traces of Pani's carefulhousekeeping were gone. Dust was everywhere, and even food was standingabout as Wenonah had brought it in last night, while piles of furs andblankets were lying in a corner, waiting to be put up. 

"Now we must have a fire, " she began, cheerily; and, shivering with thechill herself, she stirred the embers and ashes about. There was no lackof fuel. In a moment the flames began a heartsome sound, and the scarletrays went climbing and racing over the twigs. There was a fragrantwarmth, a brightness, but it showed the wan, brown face, almost ashencolor from paleness, and the lack-luster eyes. 

"Pani!" Jeanne knelt before her and shook back the curls, smiled whenshe would fain have cried over the pitiful wreck, and at that moment shehated Louis Marsac more bitterly than ever. "Pani, dear, wake up. Youhave been asleep and dreamed bad dreams. Wake up, dear, my only love. "

Some consciousness stirred vaguely. It was as if she made a greateffort, and the pale lips moved, but no sound came from them. Still theeyes lost some of their vacancy, the brow showed lines of thought. 

"Jeanne, " she murmured again. "_Petite_ Jeanne. Did some one take youaway? Or was it a dream?"

"I am here, your own Jeanne. Look at the fire blaze. Now you will bewarm, and remember, and we will both give thanks. Nothing shall everpart us again. "

Pani made an attempt to rise but fell back limply. Some one opened thedoor--it was Margot, who uttered a cry of affright and stood as if shewas looking at a ghost, her eyes full of terror. 

"I have come back, " began Jeanne in a cheerful tone. "Some Indianscarried me away. I have been almost up to the Straits, and a goodcaptain brought me home. Has she been ill?" motioning to Pani. 

"Only grief, Mam'selle. All the time she said you would return until aweek or so ago, then she seemed to give up everything. I was very busythis morning, there are so many mouths to feed. I was finishing somework promised, there are good people willing to employ me. And then Icame in to see--"

"Jeanne has come home, " Pani exclaimed suddenly. "Margot has been sogood. I am old and of no use any more. I have been only a trouble. "

"Yes, yes, I want you. Oh, Pani, if I had come home and found you deadthere would have been no one--and now you will get well again. "

Pani shook her head, but Jeanne could discern the awakeningintelligence. 

"Mam'selle!" Margot seemed but half convinced. Then she glanced aboutthe room. "M. Garis was in such haste for his boy's clothes that I havedone nothing but sew and sew. Marie has gone out to service and thereare only the little ones. My own house has been neglected. "

"Yes. Heaven will reward you for your goodness to her all this dreadfultime, when you have had to work hard for your own. "

Margot began to pick up articles and straighten the room, to gather thefew unwashed dishes. 

"Oh, Mam'selle, it made a great stir. The neighbors and the guards wentout and searched. Some wild beast might have devoured you, but theyfound no trace. And they thought of Indians. Poor Pani! But all will bewell now. Nay, Mam'selle, " as Jeanne would have stopped her, "there willbe people in, for strange news travels fast. "

That was very likely. In a brief while they had the room tidy. ThenJeanne fixed a seat at the other side of the fireplace, spread the furrug over it, and led the unresisting Pani thither, wrapped her in afresh blanket, and took off the cap, smoothing out the neglected hairthat seemed strangely white about the pale, brown face. The high cheekbones left great hollows underneath, but in spite of the furrows of agethe skin was soft. 

The woman gave a low, pleased laugh, and nodded. 

"Father Rameau will come, " she said. 

"Father Rameau! Has he returned?" inquired the girl. 

"Oh, yes, Mam'selle, and so glad to get back to Detroit. I cannot tellyou all his delight. And then his sorrow for you. For we were afraid youwere no longer living. What a strange story!"

"It has happened before, being carried away by Indians. Some time youshall hear all, Margot. "

The woman nodded. "And if you do not want me, Mam'selle--" for there wasmuch to do at home. 

"I do not need you so much just now, but come in again presently. Oh, Ican never repay you!"

"Wenonah has done more than I. "

In the warmth of the fire and the comfortable atmosphere about her, Panihad fallen asleep. Jeanne glanced into the chamber. The beds were spreadup, and, except dust, things were not bad, but she put them in the oldenorder. Then she bathed her face and combed the tangles out of her hair. Here was her blue woolen gown, with the curious embroidery of beads andbright thread, that Wenonah had made for her last winter, and sheslipped into it. Now she felt like herself. She would cook a littledinner for herself and Pani. And, as she was kneeling on the widehearthstone stirring some broth, the woman opened her eyes. 

"Jeanne, " she said, and there was less wandering in her voice, "Jeanne, it was a dream. I have been asleep many moons, I think. The great evilspirits have had me, dragged me down into their dens, and I could notsee you. Pani's heart has been sore distressed. It was all a dream, little one. "

"Yes, a dream!" Jeanne's arms were about her neck. 

"And you will never go away, not even if M. Bellestre sends for you!"she entreated. 

"I shall never go away from La Belle Detroit. Oh, Pani, there may bebeautiful places in the world, " and she thought of the island andMiladi, "but none so dear. No, we shall stay here always. "

But the news had traveled, and suddenly there was an influx; M. De Bergoing home to his midday meal could not believe until he had seen Jeannewith his own eyes. And the narrow street was filled as with aprocession. 

Jeanne kept to the simple story and let her listeners guess at motivesor mysterious purposes. They had not harmed her. And a beautiful Indianmaiden with much power over her red brethren had gained her freedom andsent her to a place of safety. Captain Mallard and the "Return" hadbrought her to the town, and that was all. 

It was almost night when Father Rameau came. He had grown strangely old, it seemed to her, and the peaceful lines of his face were disturbed. Hehad come back to the home of years to find himself curiously supplantedand new methods in use that savored less of love and more of strictrule. He had known so much of the hardness of the pioneer lives, of theenjoyment and courage the rare seasons of pleasure gave them, of theignorance that could understand little of the higher life, of the strongprejudices and superstitions that had to be uprooted gently and perhapswait for the next generation. Truth, honesty, and temperance were rarevirtues and of slow growth. The new license brought in by the Englishwas hard to combat, but he had worked in love and patience, and now hefound his methods condemned and new ones instituted. His heart ached. 

But he was glad enough to clasp Jeanne to his heart and to hear hersimple faith in the miracle that had been wrought. How great it was, andwhat her danger had been, he was never to know. For Owaissa's sake andher debt to her she kept silence as to that part. 

Certainly Jeanne had an ovation. When she went into the street therewere smiles and bows. Some of the ladies came to speak to her, andinvited her to their houses, and found her extremely interesting. 

Madame De Ber was very gracious, and both Rose and Marie were friendlyenough. But Madame flung out one little arrow that missed its mark. 

"Your old lover soon consoled himself it seems. It is said he married ahandsome Indian girl up at the Strait. I dare say he was pledged toher. "

"Yes. It was Owaissa who freed me from captivity. She came down to BoisBlanc and heard the story and sent me away in her own canoe with herfavorite servant. Louis Marsac was up at St. Ignace getting a priestwhile she waited. I cannot think he was at all honest in proposingmarriage to me when another had the right. But there was a grand time itwas said, and they were very happy. "

Madame stared. "It was a good thing for you that you did not care forhim. I had a distrust for him. He was too handsome. And then he believednothing and laughed at religion. But the Marsacs are going to be veryrich it is said. You did not see them married?"

"Oh, no. " Jeanne laughed with a bitterness she had not meant to put intoher voice. "He was away when Owaissa came to me and heard my plight. Andthen there was need of haste. I had to go at once, and it would not havebeen pleasant even if I could have waited. "

"No, no. Men are much given to make love to young girls who have no oneto look after them. They think nothing of it. "

"So it was fortunate that it was distasteful to me. "

Jeanne had a girl's pride in wanting this woman to understand that shewas in no wise hurt by Marsac's recreancy. Then she added, "The girl wasbeautiful as Indian girls go, and it seems a most excellent marriage. She will be fond of that wild northern country. I could not be contentin it. "

Jeanne felt that she was curiously changed, though sometimes she longedpassionately for the wild little girl who had been ready for every kindof sport and pleasure. But the children with whom she had played weregrown now, boys great strapping fellows with manners both coarse andshy, going to work at various businesses, and the girls had lovers orhusbands, --they married early then. So she seemed left alone. She didnot care for their chatter nor their babies of which they seemed soproud. 

So she kept her house and nursed Pani back to some semblance of herformer self. But often it was a touch of the childhood of old age, andshe rambled about those she had known, the De Longueils and Bellestres, and the night Jeanne had been left in her arms. 

Jeanne liked the chapel minister and his wife very much. The lady had somany subjects to converse about that never led to curious questions. Theminister lent her books and they talked them over afterward. This wasthe world she liked. 

But she had not lost her love for that other world of freedom andexhilaration. After a brief Indian summer with days of such splendorthat it seemed as if the great Artist was using his most magnificentcolors, winter set in sharp and with a snap that startled every one. Snow blocked the roads and the sparkling expanse of crust on the top wasthe delight of the children, who walked and slid and pulled each otherin long loads like a chain of dogs. And some of the lighter weight youngpeople skated over it like flying birds. In the early evening all wasgayety. Jeanne was not lacking in admirers. Young Loisel often calledfor her, and Martin Lavosse would easily have verged on the sentimentalif Jeanne had not been so gay and unconscious. He was quite sore overthe defection of Rose De Ber, who up in one of the new streets washobnobbing with the gentry and quite looking down on the Beesons. 

Then the minister and his wife often joined these outdoor parties. Sincehe neither played cards, danced, nor drank in after-dinner symposiums, this spirited amusement stirred his blood. Pani went to bed early, andMargot would bring in her sewing and see that nothing untoward happened. 

Few of the stores were open in the evenings. Short as the day was, allthe business could be done in it. Now and then one saw a feeble light ina window where a man stayed to figure on some loss or gain. 

Fleets were laid up or ventured only on short journeys. From thenorthern country came stories of ice and snow that chilled one's marrow. Yet the great fires, the fur rugs and curtains and soft blankets keptone comfortable within. 

There were some puzzling questions for Jeanne. She liked the freedom ofconscience at the chapel, and then gentle Father Rameau drew her to thechurch. 

"If I had two souls, " she said one day to the minister, "I should bequite satisfied. And it seems to me sometimes as if I were two differentpeople, " looking up with a bright half smile. "In childhood I used tolay some of my wildnesses on to the Indian side. I had a curious fancyfor a strain of Indian blood. "

"But you have no Indian ancestry?"

"I think not. I am not so anxious for it now, " laughing gayly. "But thatside of me protests against the servitude Father Gilbert so insistsupon. And I hate confession. To turn one's self inside out, to give awaythe sacred trusts of others--"

"No, that is not necessary, " he declared hastily. 

"But when the other lives are tangled up with yours, when you can onlytell half truths--"

He smiled then. "Mademoiselle Jeanne, your short life has not had timeto get much entangled with other lives, or with secrets you are awareof. "

"I think it has been curiously entangled, " she replied. "M'sieuBellestre, whom I have almost forgotten, M. Loisel--and the oldschoolmaster I told you of, who I fancy now was a sad heretic--"

She paused and flushed, while her eyes were slowly downcast. There wasMonsieur St. Armand. How could she explain this to a priest? And was notMonsieur a heretic, too? That was her own precious, delightful secret, and she would give it into no one's keeping. 

She was very happy with all this mystery about her, he thought, verysimple minded and sweet, doing the whole duty of a daughter to this poorIndian woman in return for her care. And when Pani was gone? She wassurely fitted for some other walk in life, but she was unconsciouslyproud, she would not step over into it, some one must take her by thehand. 

"But why trouble about the Church, as you call it? It is the life oneleads, not the organization. Are these people down by the wharves andthose holes on St. Louis street, where there is drunkenness and gamblingand swearing, any the better for their confession and their masses, andwhat not?"

"If I was the priest they should not come unless they reformed, " and hereyes flashed. "But when I turn away something calls me, and when I gothere I do not like it. They want me to go among the sisters, to be anun perhaps, and that I should hate. "

"At present you are doing a daughter's duty, let that suffice. Paniwould soon die without you. When a new work comes to hand God will makethe way plain for you. "

Jeanne gave an assenting nod. 

"She is a curious child, " the minister said to his wife afterward, "andyet a very sweet, simple-hearted one. But to confine her to any routinewould make her most unhappy. "

There were all the Christmas festivities, and Jeanne did enjoy them. Afterward--some of the days were very long it seemed. She was tired ofthe great white blanket of snow and ice, and the blackness of theevergreens that in the cold turned to groups of strange monsters. Bearscame down out of the woods, the sheep dogs and their masters had fightswith wolves; there were dances and the merry sounds of the violin inevery household where there were men and boys. Then Lent, not verystrictly kept after all, and afterward Easter and the glorious spring. 

Jeanne woke into new life. "I must go out for the first wild flowers, "she said to Pani. "It seems years since I had any. And the robin and thethrush and the wild pigeons have come back, and the trees bud with thebaths of sunshine. All the air is throbbing with fragrance. "

Pani looked disturbed. 

"Oh, thou wilt not go to the woods?" she cried. 

"I will take Wenonah and one of the boys. They are sturdy now and canhowl enough to scare even a panther. No, Pani, there is no one to carryme away. They would know that I should slip through their fingers;" andshe laughed with the old time joyousness. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A HEARTACHE FOR SOME ONE. 

"Jeanne, " exclaimed Father Rameau, "thou art wanted at the Chapterhouse. "

He stood in the doorway of the little cottage and glanced curiously atthe two inmates. Pani often amused herself cutting fringe for Wenonah, under the impression that it was needed in haste, and she was very happyover it. A bowl of violets and wild honeysuckle stood on the table, andsome green branches hung about giving the room the odor of the newseason and an air of rejoicing. 

"What now?" She took his wrinkled old hand in hers so plump and dimpled. "Have I committed some new sin? I have been so glad for days and daysthat I could only rejoice. "

"No, not sin. It is to hear a strange story and to be happier, perhaps. "

He looked curiously at her. "Oh, something has happened!" she cried. Wasit possible M. St. Armand had returned? For days her mind had been fullof him. And he would be the guest of the Fleurys. 

"Yes, I should spoil it in the telling, and I had strict injunctions. "There was an air of mystery about him. 

Surely there was no trouble. But what could they want with her? Astrange story! Could some one have learned about her mother or herfather?

"I will change my attire in a moment. Pani, Margot will gladly come andkeep you company. "

"Nay, little one, I am not a baby to be watched, " Pani protested. 

Jeanne laughed. She looked very sweet and charming in her blue and whitefrock made in a plain fashion, for it did not seem becoming in her tosimulate the style of the great ladies. A soft, white kerchief was drawnin a knot about her shoulders, showing the shapely throat that wasnearer ivory than pearl. In the knot she drew a few violets. Head gearshe usually disdained, but now she put over her curls a dainty white capthat made a delicious contrast with the dark rings nestling below theedge. A pretty, lissome girl, with a step so light it would not havecrushed the grass under her feet, had there been any. 

"There seems a great stir in the town, " she said. 

They had turned into St. Anne's street and were going toward the church. 

"The new Governor General Hull is to come in a few weeks, and theofficers have word to look him up a home, for governors have not livedin Detroit before. No doubt there will be fine times among theAmericans. "

"And there flies a white flag down at the river's edge--has thatsomething to do with it?"

"Oh, the boat came in last evening. It is one of the great men up at theNorth, I think in the fur company. But he has much influence over theIndian tribes, and somehow there is a whisper that there may bedisaffection and another union such as there was in Pontiac's time, which heaven forbid! He is called the White Chief. "

"The White Chief!" Jeanne stopped short in a maze of astonishment. 

"That has nothing to do with thee, " said the priest. He preferred herinterest to run in another channel. 

"But--I was on his island. I saw his wife and children, you remember. Oh, I must see him--"

"Not now;"--and her guide put out his hand. 

"Oh, no, " and she gave a short laugh. "As if I would go running after astrange man; a great chief! But he is not an Indian. He is French. "

"I do remember, yes. There seems a great commotion, as if all the shipshad come in. The winter was so long and cold that business is all themore brisk. Here, child, pay a little attention to where you are going. There is a lack of reverence in you young people that pains me. "

"Pardon me, father. " Jeanne knelt on the church steps and crossedherself. She had run up here in the dark the first night she had beenback in Detroit, just to kneel and give thanks, but she had told no one. 

Then she walked decorously beside him. There was the Chapel of Retreat, a room where the nuns came and spent hours on their knees. They passedthat, going down a wide hall. On one side some young girls sat doingfine embroidery for religious purposes. At the end a kind of receptionroom, and there were several people in this now, two priests and threewoman in the garb of Ursuline nuns. 

Jeanne glanced around. A sort of chill crept over her. The room was bareand plain except a statue of the Virgin, and some candles andcrucifixes. Nearly in the center stood a table with a book of devotionson it. 

"This is Jeanne Angelot, " exclaimed Father Rameau. She, in her youth andhealth and beauty, coming out of the warm and glowing sunshine of May, brought with her an atmosphere and radiance that seemed like a suddensunrise in the dingy apartment. The three women in the coif and gown ofthe Ursulines fingered their beads and, after sharp glances at the maid, dropped their eyes, and their faces fell into stolid lines. 

Another woman rose from the far corner and her gown made a swish on thebare floor. She came almost up to Jeanne, who shrank back in aninexplicable terror, a motion that brought a spasm of color to thenewcomer's face, and a gasp for breath. 

She was, perhaps, a little above the medium height, slim alway and nowvery thin. Her eyes were sunken, with grayish shadows underneath, hercheeks had a hollow where fullness should have been, her lips werecompressed in a nearly straight line. She was not old, but asceticismhad robbed her of every indication of youth, had made severity theleading indication in her countenance. 

"Jeanne Angelot, " she repeated. "You are quite sure, Father, thosegarments belonged to her?"

The poor woman felt the secret antipathy and she, too, seemed tocontract, to realize the mysterious distance between them, theunlikeness of which she had not dreamed. For in her narrow life ofdevotion she had endeavored to crucify all human feelings andaffections. That was her bounden duty for her girlhood's sin. Girls werepoor, weak creatures and their wills counseled them wrongly, wickedly. She had come to snatch this child, the result of her own selfish dreams, her waywardness, from a like fate. She should be housed, safe, kept fromevil. The nun, too, had dreamed, although Berthê Campeau had said, "Sheis a wild little thing and it is suspected she has Indian blood in herveins. " But it was the rescue of a soul to the service of God, the soulshe was answerable for, not the ardor of human love. 

The father made a slow inclination of the head. 

"They were upon her that night she was dropped in the Pani's lap, andthe card pinned to her. Then two letters curiously wrought upon herthigh. "

"Jeanne, Jeanne, I am your mother. "

It was the woman who was the suppliant, who felt a strange misgivingabout this spirited girl with resolute eyes and poise of the head like abird who would fly the next moment. And yet it was not the entreaty ofstarved and waiting love, that would have clasped arms about the slim, proud figure that stood almost defiant, suspicious, unbelieving. 

The others had heard the story and there was no surprise in theircountenances. 

Jeanne seemed at first like a marble image. The color went out of hercheeks but her eyes were fixed steadfastly upon the woman, their blue soclear, so penetrating, that she shrank farther into herself, seemedthinner and more wan. 

"Your mother, " and Father Rameau would fain have taken the girl's hand, but she suddenly clasped them behind her back. There was incredulity inthe look, repulsion. What if there were some plot? She glanced at FatherGilbert but his cold eyes expressed only disapprobation. 

"My mother, " she said slowly. "My mother has been dead years, and I owelove and gratitude to the Indian woman, Pani, who has cared for me withall fondness. "

"You do not as yet understand, " interposed Father Rameau. "You have notheard the story. "

She had in her mind the splendid motherhood of Miladi as she had seen itin that beautiful island home. 

"A mother would not desert her child and leave it to the care ofstrangers, Indian enemies perhaps, and send a message that she wasdead, " was the proud reply. 

Jeanne Angelot's words cut like a knife. There was no sign of belief inher eyes, no dawning tenderness. 

The woman bowed her head over her clasped hands and swayed as if shewould fall. 

"It is right, " she answered in a voice that might have come from thegrave. "It is part of my punishment. I had no right to bring this childinto the world. Holy Mother, I accept, but let me snatch her soul fromperdition!"

Jeanne's face flamed scarlet. "I trust the good Father above, " shedeclared with an accent of uplifted faith that irradiated her withserene strength. "Once in great peril he saved me. I will trust my causeto him and he will clear my way. "

"Thou ignorant child!" declared Father Gilbert. "Thou hast no human lovein thy breast. There must be days and weeks of penance and disciplinebefore thou art worthy even to touch this woman's hand. She is thymother. None other hath any right to thee. Thou must be trained inobedience, in respect; thy pride and indifference must be cast out, evilspirits that they be. She hath suffered for thy sake; she must haveamends when thou art in thy right mind. Thou wert given to the Church inHoly Baptism, and now she will reclaim thee. "

Jeanne turned like a stag at bay, proud, daring, defiant. It was someevil plot. Could a true mother lend herself to such a cruel scheme? Whywas she not drawn to her, instead of experiencing this fear andrepulsion? Would they keep her here, shut her up in a dark room as theyhad years ago, when she had kicked and screamed until Father Rameau hadlet her out to liberty and the glorious sunlight? Could she not make onewild dash now--

There was a shuffling of steps in the hall and a glitter of trappings. The Commandant of the Fort stepped forward to the doorway and glancedin. The priests questioned with their eyes, the nuns turned aside. 

"We were told we should find Father Rameau here. There is some curiousbusiness. Ah, here is the girl herself, Mademoiselle Jeanne Angelot. There is a gentleman here desirous of meeting her, and has a strangestory for her ear. Can we have a private room--"

"Mademoiselle Jeanne Angelot is in the care of the Church and hermother, who has come to claim her;" was the emphatic reply. 

"Her mother!" The man beside the Commandant stepped forward. "Her motheris dead, " he said, gravely. 

"The Sieur Gaston de la Touchê Angelot, better known by repute as theWhite Chief of the Island, " announced the officer; and the guest bowedto them all. 

The woman fell on her knees and bowed her head to the floor. The manglanced about the small concourse. He was tall, nearer forty thanthirty, of a fine presence, and, though bronzed by exposure, washandsome, and not only that, but noble as to face; the kind of man tocompel admiration and respect, and with the air of authority that swaysin an unquestioning manner. His eyes rested on the girl. The same proudbearing, though with virginal softness and pliability, the same largesteady eyes, both with the wondering look as they rushed to each other'sglance. 

"If the tale I have heard, or rather have pieced out from vague bits andsuggestions, and the similarity of name be true, I think I have a rightto claim this girl as my daughter, supposed dead for years. There weresome trinkets found on her, and there were two initials wrought in herfair baby limb by my hand. Can I see these articles?"

Then he crossed to the girl and studied her from head to foot, smiledwith a little triumph, and faced the astonished group. 

"I have marked her with my eyes as well, " he said with a smile. "Jeanne, do you not feel that the same blood flows through our veins? Does notsome mysterious voice of nature assure you that I am your father, evenbefore the proofs are brought to light? You must know--"

Ah, did she not know! The voice spoke with no uncertain sound. JeanneAngelot went to her father's arms. 

The little group were so astounded that no one spoke. The woman stillknelt, nay, shriveled in a little heap. 

"She has fainted, " and one of the sisters went to her, "Help, let uscarry her into the next room. "

They bore her away. Father Gilbert turned fiercely to the Sieur Angelot. 

"There might be some question as to rights in the child, " he said, in aclear, cold tone. "When did the Sieur repudiate his early marriage? Hehas on his island home a new wife and children. "

"Death ends the most sacred of all ties for this world. Coming to meetme the party were captured by a band of marauding Indians. Few escaped. Months afterward I had the account from one of the survivors. Thechild's preservation must have been a miracle. And that she has beenhere years--" he pressed her closer to his heart. 

"Monsieur Angelot, I think you will not need us in the untangling ofthis strange incident, but we shall be glad to hear its ending. I shallexpect you to dine with me as by previous arrangement. I wish you mightbring your pretty daughter. "

The Commandant bowed to the company and turned, attended by his suite. When their soldierly tread had ceased on the steps, Father Gilbertconfronted the White Chief. 

"Your wife, " he began in an authoritative tone, fixing his keen eyes onthe Sieur Angelot, "your wife whom you tempted from her vows andunlawfully married is still alive. I think she can demand her child. "

Jeanne clung closer to her father and his inmost soul responded. Butaloud he exclaimed in a horrified tone, "Good God!" Then in a moment, turning almost fiercely to the priest, "Why did she give away her childand let it be thought a foundling? For if the story is true she has beenlittle better than a waif, a foundling of Detroit. "

"She was dying and intended to send it to you. She had to intrust it toa kind-hearted squaw. What happened then will never be known, until oneevening it was dropped in the lap of this Pani woman who has been fostermother. "

"Is this so, Jeanne?" He raised the flushed face and looked into theeyes with a glance that would have been stern had it not been so full oflove. 

"It is so, " she made answer in a soft, clear voice. "She has been amother to me and I love her. She is old and I will never be separatedfrom her. "

"There spoke the loyal child. And now, reverend father, where is thiswife? It is a serious complication. But if, as you say, I married herunlawfully--"

"You enticed her from the convent. " There was the severity of the judgein the tone. 

"_Parbleu!_ It did not need much enticing, " and a half smile crossed hishandsome face while his eyes softened. "We were both in love and sheabhorred the monotony of convent life. We were of different faiths; thatshould have made me pause, but I thought then that love rightedeverything. I was of an adventurous turn and mightily stirred by thetales of the new world. Huguenot faith was not in favor in France, and Iresolved to seek my fortunes elsewhere. She could not endure theparting. Yes, Father, since she had not taken any vow, not even begunher novitiate, I overpersuaded her. We were married in my faith. We cameto this new world, and in Boston this child was born. We were still veryhappy. But I could not idle my life doing things befitting womankind. Wecame to Albany, and there I found some traders who told stirring talesof the great North and the fortunes made in the fur trade. My wife didoppose my going, but the enthusiasm of love, if I may call it so, hadbegun to wane. She had misgivings as to whether she had done right inmarrying me--"

"As a true daughter of the Church would, " interrupted the priestseverely. 

"I was willing that she should return to her own faith, which she did. Ileft her in good hands. Fortune favored me. I liked the stir andexcitement, the out-of-door life, the glamour of adventures. I found menwho were of the same cast of mind. To be sure, there were dangers, therewas also the pleasure and gratification of leadership, of subduingsavage natures. When I had resolved to settle in the North I sent to mywife by a messenger and received answer that since I thought it best shewould come to me. I felt that she had no longing for the wild life, butI meant to do my utmost to satisfy her. There was her Church at St. Ignace, there were kindly priests, and some charming and heroic women. With my love to shield her I felt she must be happy. There was a companyto leave Albany, enough it was thought to make traveling safe, forIndians were still troublesome. I made arrangements for her to jointhem, and was to meet them at Detroit. Alas! word came that, while theywere still some distance from their point of embarkation on Lake Erie, they were set upon and massacred by a body of roving Indians. Instead ofmy beloved wife I met one of the survivors in Detroit and heard theterrible story. Not a woman in the party had escaped. The Indians hadnot burthened themselves with troublesome prisoners. I returned toMichilimackinac with a heart bowed down with grief. There was thecomfortable home awaiting my wife, made as pretty as it had beenpossible to do. I could not endure it and joined some members of thecompany going to Hudson Bay. I made some fresh efforts to learn ifanything further had been heard, but no word ever came. It is true thatI married again. It does not seem possible that a once wedded wifeshould have lived all these years and made no effort to communicate withher husband, who, after all, could have been found. And though for yearsI have been known as the White Chief, from a curious power I have gainedover the Indians, the hunters, and traders, I am also known as the SieurAngelot. "

He stood proudly before them, his handsome, weather-bronzed face bearingthe impress of truth, his eyes shining with the clearest, highest honor. The child Jeanne felt the stiffening of every muscle, and it wentthrough her with a thrill of joy. 

"It is a long story, " began Father Rameau, gently, "a strange one, too. Through the courage and craftiness of a Miami squaw, who had been a sortof maid to Madame Angelot, she escaped death. They hid in the woods andsubsisted on anything they could find until Madame could go no farther. She thought herself dying, and implored the woman to take her babe toDetroit and find its father, and she lay down in a leafy covert to die. In that hour she repented bitterly of her course in leaving the conventand listening to a forbidden love. She prayed God to believe if it wereto do over again she would hearken to the voice of the Church, and hopedthis fervent repentance would be remembered in her behalf. Then sheresigned herself to death. But in the providence of the good All Fathershe was rescued by another party and taken to a farmhouse not fardistant. Here were two devoted women who were going to Montreal to enterthe convent, and were to embark at a point on Lake Ontario, where a boatgoing North would touch. They nursed her for several weeks before shewas able to travel, and then she decided to cast in her lot with them. Her husband, no doubt, had the child. She was dead to the world. Shebelonged henceforward to the Church and to the service of God. Moreover, it was what she desired. She had tried worldly love and her own will, and been unhappy in it. Monsieur, she was born for a devotee. It was asad mistake when she yielded to your persuasions. Her parents haddestined her for the convent, and she had a double debt to pay. Themarriage was unlawful and she was absolved from it. "

"Then I was free also. It cannot bind on one side and loose on theother. I believe you have said rightly. She was not happy, though Ithink even now she will tell you that I did all in my power. I did notoppose her going back to her first faith, although then I would havefought against this disruption of the marriage tie. "

"It was no marriage in God's sight, with a heretic, " interposed FatherGilbert. "She repented her waywardness bitterly. God made her to see itthrough sore trial. But the child is hers. "

"Not when you admit that she sent it to me, gave me the right, " was theconfident reply. 

He pressed Jeanne closer and with a strength that said, "I will fightfor you. " The proud dignity of his carriage, the resolution in his face, indicated that he would not be an easy enemy to combat. There was astrange silence, as if no one could tell what would be the next move. Hebroke it, however. 

"The child shall decide, " he said. "She shall hear her mother's story, and then mine. She shall select with whom she will spend the comingyears. God knows I should have been glad enough to have had her then. Bywhat sad mistake fate should have traversed the mother's wishes, andgiven her these wasted years, I cannot divine. "

They were only to guess at that. The Miami woman had grown tired of hercharge, so unlike the papooses of the Indian mothers. Then, too, it washeavy to carry, difficult to feed. She met a party of her own tribe andresolved to cast in her destiny with them. They were going into Ohio tomeet some scattered members of their people, and to effect a union withother Indian nations, looking to the recovery of much of their power. She went up to Detroit in a canoe, and, taking the sleeping child, reconnoitered awhile; finally, seeing Pani sitting alone under a greattree, she dropped the child into her lap and ran swiftly away, feelingconfident the father would in some way discover the little one, sinceher name was pinned to her clothing. Then she rowed rapidly back, herIndian ideas quite satisfied. 

"I wonder if I might see"--what should he call her?--"Jeanne's mother. "

Word came back that the nun was too much enfeebled to grant him aninterview. But she would receive the child. Jeanne clung to her fatherand glanced up with entreating eyes. 

"I will wait for you. Yes, see her. Hear her story first. " The childfollowed the sister reluctantly. Sieur Angelot, who had been standing, now took a seat. 

"I should like to see the trinkets you spoke of--and the clothes, " hesaid with an air of authority. 

Father Rameau brought them. Father Gilbert and the sister retired to anadjoining room. 

"Yes, " the Sieur remarked, "this is our miniature. It was done inBoston. And the ring was my gift to the child when she was a year old;it was much too big, " and he smiled. "And the little garments. You areto be thanked most sincerely for keeping them so carefully. Tell mesomething about the life of the child. "

Father Rameau had been so intimately connected with it, that he was amost excellent narrator. The episode with the Bellestres and Monsieur'skindly care, the efforts to subdue in some measure the child's wildnessand passion for liberty, which made the father smile, thinking of hisown exuberant spirits and adventures, her affection for the Indianwoman, her desultory training, that Father Rameau believed now had beena sinful mistake, her strange disappearance--

"That gave me the clew, " interrupted his hearer. "By some mysteriouschain of events she was brought to her father's house. I was up North atthe time, and only recently heard the story. The name Jeanne Angelotroused me. There could not be a mistake. Some miracle must haveintervened to save the child. Then I came at once. But you thinkshe--the mother--believes her marriage was a sin?" What if she stillcared?

The Sieur asked it with great hesitation. He thought of the proud, loving wife, the spirited, beautiful boys, the dainty littledaughter--no, he could not relinquish them. 

"She is vowed to the Church now, and is at rest. Nothing you can saywill disturb her. The good Bishop of Montreal absolved her from herwrongful vow. While we hold marriage as sacred and indissoluble, it hasto be a true marriage and with the sanction of the Church. This had nopriestly blessing or benediction. And she repented of it. For years shehas been in the service of the Lord. "

He was glad to hear this. Down in his heart he knew how she hadtormented her tender conscience with vain and rigorous questions and hadmade herself unhappy in pondering them. But he thought their new lifetogether would neutralize this tendency and bring them closer in unison. Had she, indeed, made such a sad mistake in her feelings as to give himonly an enthusiastic but temporary affection, when she was ready tothrow up all the beliefs and the training of her youth? But then theconvent round looked dreary to her. 

Jeanne came from the room where she had been listening to her mother'sstory of self-blame and present abhorrence for the step she had sounwisely taken in yielding to one who should have been nothing to her. 

"But you loved him then!" cried Jeanne, vehemently, thinking of theother woman whose joy and pride was centered in the Sieur Angelot. 

"It was a sinful fancy, a temptation of the evil one. I should havestruggled against it. I should have resigned myself to the life laid outfor me. A man's love is a delusion. Oh, my child, there is nothing likethe continual service of God to keep one from evil. The joys of theworld are but as dust and ashes, nay, worse, they leave an ineradicablestain that not even prayer and penance can wash out. And this is why Ihave come to warn, to reclaim you, if possible. When I heard the storyfrom a devoted young sister, whose name in the world was Berthê Campeau, I said I must go and snatch the soul of my child from the shadow ofperdition that hangs over her. "

Berthê Campeau! How strange it was that the other mother, nearing theend of life, should have plead with her child to stay a little longer inthe world and wait until she was gone before she buried herself inconvent walls!

Was it a happy life, even a life of resignation, that had left suchlines in her mother's face? She was hardly in the prime of life, butshe looked old already. Instead of being drawn to sympathize with her, Jeanne was repelled. Her mother did not want her for solace and humanlove and sympathy, but simply to keep her from evil. Was affection sucha sin? She could love her father, yes, she could love M. St. Armand; andthe Indian woman with her superstitions, her ignorance, was very, verydear. And she liked brightness, happy faces, the wide out-of-doors withits birds' songs, its waving trees, its fragrant breathing from shruband flower that filled one with joy. Pani kissed her and clasped her toher heart, held her in her arms, smoothed the tangled curls, sometimeskissed them, too, caressed her soft, dainty hands as if they wereanother human being. This woman was her mother, but there was nopassionate longing in her eyes, no tender possessing grasp in the handsthat lay limp and colorless on her black gown. And Jeanne would havebeen still more horrified if she had known that those eyes looked uponher as part of a sinful life she had overcome by nights of vigil anddays of solitude in work and prayer that she had once abhorred and fledfrom. Yet she pitied her profoundly. She longed to comfort her, but thenun did not want the comfort of human love. 

"No, I cannot decide, " Jeanne cried, and yet she knew in her soul shehad decided. 

She came out to her father with tears in her eyes, but the shelter ofhis arms was so strong and safe. 

"Reverend fathers, " the Sieur Angelot said, with a grave inclination ofthe head, "I thank you for your patience and courtesy. I can appreciateyour feelings, too, but I think the law will uphold me in my claim to mydaughter. And in my estimation Jeanne de Burre committed no sin inmarrying me, and I would ever have been a faithful husband to her. Butthe decision of the Church seems most in consonance with her feelings. Ihave the honor of wishing you good day. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE HEART OF LOVE. 

"And now, " began the Sieur Angelot, when they were out in the sunshine, the choicest blessing of God, and had left the bare, gloomy room behindthem, "and now, _petite_ Jeanne, let us find thy Indian mother. "

Was there a prouder or happier girl in all Old Detroit than JeanneAngelot? The narrow, crooked streets with their mean houses wereglorified to her shining eyes, the crowded stores and shops, some ofthem with unfragrant wares, and the motley crowd running to and fro, dodging, turning aside, staring at this tall, imposing man, with hisgrand, free air and his soldierly tread, a stranger, with Jeanne Angelothanging on his arm in all the bloom and radiance of girlhood. Severalknew and bowed with deference. 

M. Fleury came out of his warehouse. 

"Mam'selle Jeanne, allow me to present my most hearty and sincerecongratulations. M. St. Armand insisted if the truth could be evolved itwould be found that you belonged to gentle people and were of goodbirth. And we are all glad it is so. I had the honor of being presentedto your father this morning;" and he bowed with respect. "Mademoiselle, I have news that will give thee greatest joy, unless thou hast forgottenold friends in the delight of the new. The 'Adventure' is expected inany time to-day, and M. St. Armand is a passenger. I beg your father tocome and dine with him this evening, and if thou wilt not mind oldgraybeards, we shall be delighted with thy company. There will be mydaughter to keep thee in countenance. "

"M. St. Armand!" Jeanne's face was in an exquisite glow and her voiceshook a little. Her father gave a surprised glance from one to theother. 

M. Fleury laughed softly and rubbed his hands together, his eyes shiningwith satisfaction. 

"Ah, Monsieur, " he exclaimed, "thou wilt be surprised at the friendsMam'selle Jeanne has in Old Detroit. I may look for thee at five thisevening?"

They both promised. 

Then Jeanne began to tell her story eagerly. The day the flag wasraised, the after time when she had seen the brave General Wayne, theinterest that M. St. Armand had taken in having her educated, and howshe had struggled against her wild tendencies, her passionate love offreedom and the woods, the birds, the denizens of the forests. Theyturned in and out, the soldiers at the Citadel saluted, and here wasPani on the doorstep. 

"Oh, little one! It seemed as if thou wert gone forever!"

Jeanne hugged her foster mother in a transport of joy and affection. What if Pani had not cared for her all these years? There were someorphan children in the town bound out for servants. To be sure, therehad been M. Bellestre. 

Pani did not receive the Sieur Angelot very graciously. Jeanne tried toexplain the wonderful things that had happened, but Pani's age and herlimited understanding made it a hard task. "Thy mother was dead longago, " she kept saying. "And they will take thee away, little one--"

"Then they will take you, too, Pani; I shall never leave you. I loveyou. For years there was no one else to love. And how could I beungrateful?"

She looked so charming in her eagerness that her father bent over andkissed her. If her mother had been thus faithful!

"I shall never leave Detroit, little one. You may take up a sapling andtransplant it, but the old tree, never! It dies. The new soil isstrange, unfriendly. "

"Do not tease her, " said her father in a low tone. "It is all strange toher, and she does not understand. Try to get her to tell her story ofthe night you came. "

At first Pani was very wary with true Indian suspicion. The SieurAngelot had much experience with these children of the forests andwilderness. He understood their limited power of expansion, theirsuspicions of anything outside of their own knowledge. But he led her onskillfully, and his voice had the rare quality of persuasion, ofinducing confidence. In her French _patois_, with now and then an Indianword, she began to live over those early years with the unstudiedeloquence of real love. 

"Touchas is dead, " interposed Jeanne. "But there is Wenonah, and, oh, there is all the country outside, the pretty farms, the houses that arenot so crowded. In the spring many of them are whitewashed, and thetrees are in bloom, and the roses everywhere, and the birds singing--"

She paused suddenly and flushed, remembering the lovely island home withall its beauty. 

He laughed with a pleasant sound. 

"I should think there would need to be an outside. I hardly see how onecan get his breath in the crowded streets, " he answered. 

"But there is all the beautiful river, and the air comes sweeping downfrom the hills. And the canoeing. Oh, it is not to be despised, " sheinsisted. 

"I shall cherish it because it has cherished thee. And now I must sayadieu for awhile. I am to talk over some matters with your officers, andthen--" there was the meeting with his wife. "And at five I will comeagain. Child, thou art rarely sweet; much too sweet for convent walls. "

"Is it unkind in me? I cannot make her seem my mother. Oh, I should loveher, pity her!"

There were tears in Jeanne's eyes, and her breath came with a great, sorrowful throb. 

"We will talk of all that to-morrow. "

"Thou wilt not go?" Pani gave her a frightened, longing look, as if sheexpected her to follow her father. 

"Oh, not now. It is all so wonderful, Pani, like some of the books Ihave read at the minister's. And M. St. Armand has come back, or willwhen the boat is in. Oh, what a pity to be no longer a child! A year agoI would have run down to the wharf, and now--"

Her face was scarlet at the thought. What made this great difference, this sense of reticence, of waiting for another to make some sign? Thefrank trust was gone; no, it was not that, --she was overflowing withtrust to-day. All the world was loveliness and love. But it must come toher; she could not run out to it. There was one black shadow; and thenshe shivered. 

She told Pani the story of the morning. 

The Indian woman shook her head. "She is not a true mother. She couldnot have left thee. "

"But she thought she was dying. And if I had died there in the woods!Oh, Pani, I am so glad to live! It is such a joy that it quivers in mefrom head to foot. I am like my father. "

She laughed for very gladness. Her mercurial temperament was born of thesun and wind, the dancing waters and singing birds. 

"He will take thee away, " moaned the woman like an autumnal blast. 

"I will not go, then, " defiantly. 

"But fathers do as they like, little one. "

"He will be good to me. I shall never leave you, _never_. "

She knelt before Pani and clasped the bony hands, looked up earnestlyinto the faded eyes where the keen lights of only a few years ago weredulling, and she said again solemnly, "I will never leave you. "

For she recalled the strange change of mood when she had repeated herfull name to Miladi of the island. She was her father's true wife now, and though Jeanne could not comprehend the intricacies of the case, shecould see that her father's real happiness lay in this second marriage. It took an effort not to blame her own mother for giving him up. Thathandsome woman glowing with life in every pulse, ready to dare anydanger with him, proud of her motherhood, and, oh, most proud of herhusband, making his home a temple of bliss, was his true mate. Butthough Jeanne could not have explained jealousy, she felt Miladi wouldnot love her for being the Sieur Angelot's daughter. It would be betterfor her to remain here with Pani. 

The Sieur had a deeper gravity in his face when he returned to thecottage. 

The interview with Sister Veronica had been painful to both, yet therewas the profounder pity on Angelot's side. For even before her husbandhad gone to the North she had begun to question the religious aspect ofher marriage. If it was unholy, then she had no right to live in sin. And during almost two years' absence her morbid faith had grownstronger. She would go to him and ask to be released. She would leaveher child in her place to make amends for her sad mistake. 

Circumstances had brought about the same ending by different means. Hernurse and companion on her journey had strengthened her faith in herresolve. Arrived at Montreal she received still further confirmation ofthe righteousness of her course. She had been an unlawful wife. She hadsinned in taking the marriage vow. It was no holy sacrament, and shecould be absolved. So she began her novitiate and was presently receivedinto the order. She fasted and prayed, she did penance in her conventcell, she prayed for the Sieur Angelot that he might be converted to thetrue faith. It was not as her husband, but as one might wrestle for anysinful soul. And that the child would be well brought up. She had knownBerthê Campeau, sister Mary Constantia, a long while before she heardthe story of the little girl who had come so mysteriously to Detroit, and who had been wild and perverse beyond anything. One day her name hadbeen mentioned. Then she asked the Abbe to communicate with FatherRameau for particulars and had been answered. Here was a new work forher, to snatch this child from evil ways and bring her up safely in thecare of the Church. She gained permission to go for her, and here againcircumstances seemed to play at cross purposes. 

The Sieur Angelot understood in a little while that whatever love hadinspired her that night she had besought him to rescue her from a lifethat looked hateful to her young eyes, the passion that influenced herthen was utterly dead, abhorrent to her. Better, a thousand timesbetter, that it should be so. He could not make that eager, impetuousgirl, whose voice trembled with emotion, whose kisses answered his, whose soft arms clung to his neck, out of this pale, attenuated, bloodless woman. Perhaps it was heroic to give all to her Church. Evenmen had done this. 

"And thou art happy and satisfied in this calling, Mignonne, " he halfassumed, half inquired. 

Did the old term of endearment touch some chord that was not quite dead, after all? A faint flush brought a wavering heat to her face. 

"It is my choice. And if I can have my child to train, to keep fromevil--" her voice trembled. 

He shook his head. "Nay, I cannot have her bright young life thrust intothe shadow for which she has no taste. She would pine and die. "

"I thought so once. I should have died sooner in the other life. It isGod and his holy Son who give grace. "

"She will not forsake her duty to the one who has taken such kindly careof her, the Pani woman. "

"She can come, too. Give me my child, it is all I ask of you. Surely youdo not need her. "

Her voice was roused to a certain intensity, her thin hands worked. Butit seemed to him there was something almost cruel in the motion. 

"I cannot force her will. It is as she shall choose. "

And seeing Jeanne all eager interest in the doorway of the old cottage, he knew that she would never choose to shut herself out of the radiantsunlight. 

"Here is the old gift for you, my child;" and he clasped the chain withits little locket round her neck. 

Pani came and looked at it. "Yes, yes, " she said. "It was on thy babyneck, little one. And there are the two letters--"

"It was cruel to prick them in the soft baby flesh, " the Sieur said, smilingly. "I wonder I had the courage. They alone would prove my right. And now there is no time to waste. Will you make ready--"

"I am not often asked among the quality, " and her face turned scarlet. "I have no fine attire. Wilt thou be ashamed of me?"

She looked so radiant in her girlish beauty, that it seemed to him atthe moment there was nothing more to desire. And the delicious archnessin her tone captivated him anew. Consign her to convent walls--never!

Mam'selle Fleury took charge of Jeanne at once and led her through thelarge hall to a side chamber. Not so long ago she was a gay, laughinggirl, now she was a gravely sweet woman, nursing a sorrow. 

"It was a sudden summons, " she explained. "And we could not expect toknow just when the child grew into a maiden. Therefore you will not feelhurt, that I, having a wider experience, prepared for the occasion. Letme arrange your costume now. I had this frock when I was of your age, though I was hardly as slim. How much you are like your father, child!"

"I think he was a little hurt that I had nothing to honor you with, "Jeanne said, simply. 

"Monsieur Loisel was saying that you needed a woman's hand, now that youwere outgrowing childhood. "

She drew off Jeanne's plain gown; and though this was simple for thefashion of the day, it transformed the child into a woman. The long, pointed bodice, the square neck, with its bordering of handsome lace, showing the exquisite throat sloping into the shoulders and chest, thepuffings that fell like waves about the hips and made ripples as theywent down the skirt, the sleeves ending at the elbow with a fall oflace, and her hair caught up high and falling in a cascade of curls, tied with a great bow that looked like a butterfly, changed her so thatshe hardly knew herself. 

"O, Mam'selle, you have made me beautiful!" she cried, in delight. "Ishall be glad to do you honor, and for the sake of M. St. Armand; but myfather would love me in the plainest gown. "

Mam'selle smiled over her handiwork. But Jeanne's beauty was her own. 

She had grown many shades fairer during the winter, and had not rambledabout so much nor been on the water so often. Her slim figure, in itsvirginal lines, was as lissome as the child's, but there was anexquisite roundness to every limb and it lent flexibility to hermovements. A beautiful girl, Mademoiselle Fleury acknowledged toherself, and she wondered that no one beside M. St. Armand had seen thepromise in her. 

The Sieur Angelot had been presented to the guest so lately returnedfrom abroad. 

"I desire to thank you most heartily, Monsieur St. Armand, " M. Angelotbegan, "for an unusual interest in my child that I did not know wasliving until a few weeks ago. She is most enthusiastic about you. Indeed, I have been almost jealous. "

St. Armand smiled, and bowed gracefully. 

"I believe I shall prove to you that I had a right, and, if my discoveryholds good, we are of some distant kin. When I first heard her name avague memory puzzled me, and when I went to France I resolved to searchfor a family link almost forgotten in the many turns there have been inthe old families in my native land. Three generations ago a Gaston de laTouchê Angelot gave his life for his religious faith. Those wereperilous times, and there was little chance for freedom of belief. "

"He was my grandfather, " returned the Sieur Angelot gravely. "We havebeen Huguenots for generations. More than one has died for his faith. "

"And he was a cousin to my father. I am, as you see, in the generationbefore you. And I am glad fate or fortune, as you will, has broughtabout this meeting. When I learned this fact I said: 'As soon as Ireturn to America I shall search out this little girl in Old Detroit andtake her under my care. There will be no one to object, no one who willhave a better right. ' I am all curiosity to know how on your side youmade the discovery. "

There was a rustle of silken trains in the hall. Madame Fleury enteredin a stiff brocade and a sparkle of jewels, Mam'selle in a softer, though still elegant attire, and Jeanne, who stood amazed at the eyesbent upon her; even her father was mute from very surprise. 

"Oh, my sweet Jeanne, " began M. St. Armand, smilingly, "thou haststrangely outgrown the little girl I used to know. Memory hath cheatedme in the years. For the child that kept such a warm place in my hearthath grown into a woman, and not only that, but hath a new friend andwill not need me. "

"Monsieur, no one with remembrance in her heart can so easily give up anold friend who made life brighter and happier for her, and who kindledthe spark of ambition in her soul. I think even my father owes you agreat debt. I might still have been a wild thing, haunting the woods andwaters Indian fashion, and, as one might say, despising civilized life, "smiling with a bewitching air. "I thank you, Monsieur, for your interestin me. For it has given me a great deal of happiness, and no doubt savedme from some foolish mistakes. "

She had proffered him her dainty hand at the beginning of her speech, and now with a charming color she raised her eyes to her father. Onecould trace a decided likeness between them. 

"Monsieur St. Armand has done still more, " subjoined her father. "He hastaken pains while in France to hunt up bygone records, and found thatthe families are related. So you have not only a friend but a relative, and I surely will join you in gratitude. "

"I am most happy. " She glanced smilingly from one to the other. Mam'selle Fleury watched her with surprise. The grace, ease, andpresence of mind one could hardly have looked for. "It is in the blood, "she said to herself, and she wished, too, that she had made herself afriend of this enchanting girl. 

Then they moved toward the dining room. M. Fleury took in Jeanne as thehonored guest, and seated her at his right. The Sieur Angelot was besidethe hostess. The conversation in the nature of the startling incidentswas largely personal and between the two men. Mam'selle Fleury wasdeeply interested in the adventures of the Sieur Angelot, detailed withspirit and vivacity. Jeanne's varying color and her evident pride in herfather was delightful to witness. That he and this elegant St. Armandshould have sprung from the same stock was easy to believe. While thegentlemen sat over their wine and cigars Mam'selle took Jeanne to thepretty sitting room that she had once visited with such awe. It wasodorous with the evening dew on the vines outside and the peculiarfragrance of sweetbrier. 

"What an odd thing that you should have been carried off by Indians andtaken to your father's house!" she began. "And this doublemarriage--though the Church had annulled your mother's. We have heard ofthe White Chief, but no one could have guessed you were his child. It issaid--your mother desires you--" Mam'selle hesitated as if afraid totrench on secret matters, and not sure of the conclusion. 

"She wishes me to go into the convent. But I am not like Berthê Campeau. I should fret and be miserable like a wild beast in a cage. If she wereill and needed a nurse and affection, I should be drawn to her. Andthen, I am not of the same faith. "

"But--a mother--"

"O Mam'selle, she doesn't seem like my mother. My father kissed me andheld me in his arms at once and my whole heart went out to him. I feelstrange and far away from her, and she thinks human love a snare to drawthe soul from God. O Mam'selle, when he has made the world so beautifulwith all the varying seasons, the singing birds and the blooms and theleaping waters that take on wonderful tints at sunrise and sunset, howcould one be shut away from it all? There is so much to give thanks forin the wide, splendid world. It must be better to give them with a free, grateful heart. "

"I have had some sorrow, and once I looked toward convent peace withsecret longing. But my mother and father said, 'Wait, we both shall needthee as we grow older. ' There is much good to be done outside. And onecan pray as I have learned. I cannot think human ties are easily to becast aside when God's own hand has welded them. "

"And she sent me to my father. I feel that I belong to him;" Jeannedeclared, proudly. 

"He is a man to be fond of, so gracious and noble. And his island homeis said to be most beautiful. "

Jeanne gave an eloquent description of it and the two handsome boys withtheir splendid mother. Mam'selle wondered that there was no jealousy inher young heart. What a charming character she had! Why had not shetaken her up as well, instead of feeling that M. St. Armand's interestwas much misplaced? She might have won this sweet child's affection thathad been lavished upon an old Indian woman. At times she had hungeredfor love. Her sister was away, happily married, with babies clinging toher knees, and the sufficiency of a gratified life. 

Jeanne was sitting upon a silken covered stool, her round arm daintilyreclining on the other's knee. The elder bent over and kissed her on theforehead. 

"You belong to love's world, " she said. 

Then the gentlemen entered. Mam'selle played on the harpsichord, andthere was conversation until it was time to go. 

"You will come again, " she exclaimed. "I shall want to see you, though Iknow what your decision will be, and I think it right. And now will youkeep this gown as a little gift from me? You may want to go elsewhere. My mother and I will be happy to chaperon you. "

Jeanne looked up, wide-eyed and grateful. "Every one has always been sogood to me, " she rejoined. "Then I will not take it off. It will be sucha pleasure to Pani. I never thought to look so lovely. "

Both gentlemen attended her home, and gave her a tender good night. 

Pleasant as the evening was Pani hovered over a handful of fire. Jeannethrew some fir twigs and broken pieces of birch bark on the coals, andthe blaze set the room in a glow. "Look, Pani!" she cried, and then shewent whirling round the room, her eyes shining, her rose red lips partedwith a laugh. 

"It is a spirit. " Pani shook her head and her eyes, distended, lookedfrightened in the gleam of the fire. "Little Jeanne has gone, has goneforever. "

Yes, little Jeanne had gone. She felt that herself. She was gay, eager, impetuous, but something new had stolen mysteriously over her. 

"Little Jeanne can never go away from you, Pani. Make room in your lap, so; now put your arms about me. Never mind the gown. Now, am I not yourlittle one?"

Pani laughed, the soft, broken croon of old age. 

"My little one come back, " she kept repeating in a delighted tone, stroking the soft curls. 

The next morning M. St. Armand came for a long call. There was so muchto talk over. He felt sorry for the poor mother, but he, too, objectedstrenuously to Jeanne being persuaded into convent life. He praised herfor her perseverance in studying, for her improvement under limitedconditions. Then he wondered a little about her future. If he could havethe ordering of it!

That afternoon Father Rameau came for her. A ship was to sail the nextday for Montreal, and her mother would return in it. But when he lookedin the child's eyes he knew the mother would go alone. Had he beenderelict in duty and let this lamb wander from the fold? Father Gilbertblamed him. Even the mother had rebuked him sharply. Looking into thechild's radiant face he understood that she had no vocation for a holylife. Was not the hand of God over all his children? There were strangemysteries no one could fathom. He uttered no word of persuasion, hecould not. God would guide. 

To Jeanne it was an almost heart-breaking interview. Impassionedtenderness might have won, to lifelong regret, but it was duty, thesalvation of her soul always uppermost. 

"Still I should not be with you, " said Jeanne. "I should take up astrange life among strangers. We could not talk over the past, nor bethe dearest of human beings to each other--"

"That is the cross, " interrupted the mother. "Sinful desires must benailed to it. "

And all her warm, throbbing, eager life, her love for all humancreatures, for all of God's works. 

Jeanne Angelot stood up very straight. Her laughing face grew almostsevere. 

"I cannot do it. I belong to my father. You sent me to him once. I--Ilove him. "

The mother turned and left the room. At that instant she could not trustherself to say farewell. 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE LAST OF OLD DETROIT. 

The Sieur Angelot was gladly consulted on many points. The British stillretained the command of the Grand Portage on Lake Superior, and theOttawa river route to the upper country. By presents and subsidies theymaintained an influence over the savages of the Northwest. The differentIndian tribes, though they might have disputes with each other, weregradually being drawn together with the desire of once more sweeping thelatest conquerors out of existence. 

The fur company endeavored to keep friendly with all, and the Indianswere well aware that much of their support must be drawn from them. Thenew governor was expected shortly, and Detroit was to be his home. 

The Sieur Angelot advised better fortifications and a larger garrison. Many points were examined and found weak. The general government hadbeen appealed to, but the country was poor and could hardly believe, inthe face of all the treaties, there could be danger. 

There was also the outcome of the fur trade to be discussed with themerchants, and new arrangements were being made, for the Sieur was toreturn before long. 

Jeanne had spent a sorrowful time within her own soul, though she stroveto be outwardly cheerful. June was upon them in all its glory andrichness. Sunshine scattered golden rays and made a clarified atmospherethat dazzled. The river with rosy fogs in the morning, the quiveringbreath of noon when spirals of yellow light shot up, changing tints andpallors every moment, the softer purplish coloring as the sun began todrop behind the tree tops, illuminating the different shades of greenand intensifying the birches until one could imagine them white-robedghosts. The sails on the river, the rambles in the woods, were Jeanne'sdelight once more, and with so charming a companion as M. St. Armand, her cup seemed full of joy. 

At times the thought of her lonely mother haunted her. Yet what a drearylife it must be that had robbed her of every semblance of youth and setstern lines in her face, that had uprooted the sweetest human love! Howcould she have turned from the husband of her choice, and that husbandso brave and tender a man as Sieur Angelot? For day by day it seemed toJeanne that she found new graces and tenderness in him. 

Yet she knew she must pain him, too. Only for a brief while, perhaps. And--there was a curious hesitation about the new home. 

"Jeanne, " he said one afternoon, when they, too, were lingering idlyabout the suburban part of the town, the gardens, the orchards, the longfields stretching back distantly, here and there a cottage, a nest ofbloom. There were the stolid farmers working in their old-fashionedmethods, there was a sound of strokes in the dusky woods where some menwere chopping that brought faint, reverberating echoes, there was thehumming of bees, the laughter of children. Little naked Indian babiesran about, the sun making the copper of their skins burnished, squawssat with bead work, young fellows were playing games with smooth stonesor throwing at a mark. French women had brought their wheels out underthe shade of some tree, and were making a pleasant whir with thespinning. 

"Jeanne, " he began again, "it is time for me to go up North. And I musttake you, my daughter--" looking at her with questioning eyes. 

She raised her hand as if to entreat. A soft color wavered over herface, and then she glanced up with a gentle gravity. 

"Oh, my father, leave me here a little longer. I cannot go now;" and hervoice was persuasively sweet. 

"Cannot--why?" There was insistence in his tone. 

"There is Pani--"

"But we will take Pani. I would not think of leaving her behind. "

"She will not go. I have planned and talked. She is no longer strong. Totear her up by the roots would be cruel. And do you not see that all herlife is wound about me? She has been the tenderest of mothers. I mustgive her back some of the care she has bestowed upon me. She has neverbeen quite the same since I was taken away. She came near to dying then. Yes, you must leave me awhile. "

"Jeanne, my little one, I cannot permit this sacrifice;" and thetenderness in his eyes smote her. 

"Ah, you cannot imagine how I should pine for Detroit and for her. Thenbesides--"

A warm color flooded her face; her eyes drooped. 

"My darling, can you not trust yourself to my love?"

"There is another to share your love. Oh, believe me, I am not jealousthat one so beautiful and worthy should stand in the place my mothercontemned. She has the right. "

"Child, you have wondered how I found the clew to your existence. I havemeant to tell you but there have been so many things intervening. Do youremember one night she asked your name, after having heard your story?She had listened to the other side more than once, and, piecing themtogether, she guessed--"

Jeanne recalled the sudden change from delight to coldness. Ah, was thisthe key?

"The boys were full of enthusiasm over the strange guest, whose eyeswere like their father's. No suspicion struck me. Blue eyes are not sounusual, though they all have dark ones. Neither was it so strange thatone should be captured by the Indians and escape. But I saw presentlythat something weighed heavily on the heart that had always been open asthe day. Now and then she seemed on the point of some confession. Ihave large patience, Jeanne, and I waited, since I knew it had nothingto do with any lack of love towards me. And one night when her secrethad pricked her sorely she told me her suspicions. My little child mightbe alive, might have escaped by some miracle; and she besought me withall eagerness to hasten to Detroit and find this Jeanne Angelot. She hadbeen jealous and unhappy that there should be another claimant for mylove, but then she was nobly sweet and generous and would give you awarm welcome. I sent her word by a boat going North, and now I havereceived another message. Women's hearts are strange things, child, butyou need not be afraid to trust her, though the welcome will be morelike that of a sister, " and he smiled. "I am your rightful protector. Icannot leave you here alone. "

"Nothing would harm me, " she made answer, proudly. "There are manyfriends. Detroit is dear to me. And for Pani's sake--oh, leave me here alittle while longer. For I can see Pani grows weaker and day by dayloses a little of her hold on life. Then there is Monsieur Loisel, whowill guard me, and Monsieur Fleury and Madame, who are most kind. Yes, you will consent. After that I will come and be your most dutifuldaughter. But, oh, think; I owe the Indian woman a child's service aswell. "

Her lovely eyes turned full upon him with tenderest entreaty. He wouldbe loth to reward any such devotion with ingratitude, and it would bethat. Pani could not be taken from Detroit. 

"Jeanne, it wrings my heart to find you and then give you up even for abrief while. How can I?"

"But you will, " she said, and her arms were about his neck, her soft, warm cheek was pressed to his, and he could feel her heart beat againsthis. "It pains me, too, for see, I love you. I have a right to love you. I must make amends for the pang of the other defection. And you willtell _her_, yes. I think I ought to be sister to her. And there are thetwo charming boys and Angelique--she will let me love them. I will nottake their love from her. "

He drew a long breath. "I know not how to consent, and yet I see that itwould be the finest and loveliest duty. I honor you for desiring it. Imust think and school myself, " smiling sadly. 

He consulted M. St. Armand on the matter. 

"Give her into my guardianship for a while, " that gentleman said. "It isnoble in her to care for her foster mother to the last. I shall be inand out of Detroit, and the Fleurys will be most friendly. And look you, _mon cousin_, I have a proffer to make. I have a son, a young man whosecareer has been most honorable, who is worthy of any woman's love, andwho so far has had no entanglements. If these two should meet againpresently, and come to desire each other, nothing would give me greaterhappiness. He would be a son quite to your liking. Both would be of onefaith. And to me, Jeanne would be the dearest of daughters. "

The Sieur Angelot wrung the hand of his relative. 

"It must be as the young people wish. And I would like to have her alittle while to myself. "

"That is right, too. I could wish she were my daughter, only then my sonmight miss a great joy. "

So the matter was settled. M. And Madame Fleury would have opened theirhouse to Jeanne and her charge, but it was best for them to remain wherethey were. Wenonah came in often and Margot was always ready to do aservice. 

One day Jeanne went down to the wharf to see the vessel depart for theNorth. It was a magnificent June morning, with the river almost likeglass and a gentle wind from the south. She watched the tall figure onthe deck, waving his hand until the proud outline mingled with othersand was indistinct--or was it the tears in her eyes?

M. St. Armand had some business in Quebec, but would remain only a shorttime. 

It seemed strangely solitary to Jeanne after that, although there was nolack of friends. Everybody was ready to serve her, and the young menbowed with the utmost respect when they met her. She took Pani out forshort walks, the favorite one to the great oak tree where Jeanne hadbegun her life in Detroit. Children played about, brown Indian babies, grave-faced even in their play, vivacious French little ones calling toeach other in shrill _patois_, laughing and tumbling and climbing. Hadshe once been wild and merry like them? Then Pani would babble of thepast and stroke the soft curls and call her "little one. " What a curiousdream life was!

They were busy with the governor's house and the military squares andthe old fort. The streets were cleared up a little. Houses had beenpainted and whitewashed. Stores and shops spread out their attractions, booths were flying gay colors and showing tempting eatables. All alongthe river was the stir of active life. People stayed later in thestreets these warm evenings and sat on stoops chatting. Young men andmaids planned pleasures and sails on the river and went to bed gay andlight-hearted. Was there any place quite like Old Detroit?

Early one morning while the last stars were lingering in the sky and theeast was suffused with a faint pink haze, a scarlet spire shot up thatwas not sunrise. No one remarked it at first. Then a broad flash thatmight have been lightning but was not, and a cry on the still airstartled the sleepers. "Fire! Fire!"

Suddenly all was terror. There had been no rain in some time, and theinflammable buildings caught like so much tinder. From the end of St. Anne's street up and down it ran, the dense smoke sometimes hiding theflames. Like the eruption of a great crater the smoke rose thick, black, with here and there a tongue of flame that was frightful. The streetswere so narrow and crowded, the appliances for fighting the terribleenemy so limited, that men soon gave up in despair. On and on it wentdevouring all within its reach. 

Shop keepers emptied their stores, hurried their stocks down to thewharf, and filled the boats. Furniture, century-old heirlooms, weretumbled frantically out of houses to some place of refuge as the fireswept on, carried farther and farther. Daylight and sunlight were alikeobscured. Frantic people ran hither and thither, children were gatheredin arms, and hurried without the palisades, which in many instances wereburned away. And presently the inhabitants gave way to the wildestdespair. It was a new and terrible experience. The whole town must go. 

Jeanne had been sleeping soundly, and in the first uproar listened likeone dazed. Was it an Indian assault, such as her father had fearedpresently? Then the smoke rushed into every crack and crevice. 

"Oh, what is it, what is it?" she cried, flinging her door open wide. 

"Oh, Mam'selle, " cried Margot, "the street is all aflame. Run! run!Antoine has taken the children. "

Already the streets were crowded. St. Anne's was a wall of fire. Onecould hardly see, and the roar of the flames was terrific, drowning thecries and shrieks. 

"Come, quick!" Margot caught her arm. 

"Pani! Pani!" She darted back into the house. "Pani, " she cried, pullingat her. "Oh, wake, wake! We must fly. The town is burning up. "

"Little one, " said Pani, "nothing shall harm thee. "

"Come!" Jeanne pulled her out with her strong young arms, and tried toslip a gown over the shaking figure that opposed her efforts. 

"I will not go, " she cried. "I know, you want to take me away from dearold Detroit. I heard something the Sieur Angelot said. O Jeanne, thegood Father in Heaven sent you back once. Do not go again--"

"The street is all on fire. Oh, Margot, help me, or we shall be burnedto death. Pani, dear, we must fly. "

"Where is Jeanne Angelot, " exclaimed a sturdy voice. "Jeanne, if you donot escape now--see, the flames have struck the house. "

It was the tall, strong form of Pierre De Ber, and he caught her in hisarms. 

"No, no! O Pierre, take Pani. She is dazed. I can follow. Cover her witha blanket, so, " and Jeanne, having struggled away, threw the blanketabout the woman. Pierre caught her up. "Come, follow behind me. Do notlet go. O Jeanne, you must be saved. "

Pani was too surprised for any resistance. She was not a heavy burthen, and he took her up easily. 

"Hold to my arm. There is such a crowd. And the smoke is stifling. OJeanne! if you should come to harm!" and almost he was tempted to dropthe Indian woman, but he knew Jeanne would not leave her. 

"I am here. O Pierre, how good you are!" and the praise was like adraught of wine to him. 

The flames flashed hither and thither though there was little wind. Butthe close houses fed it, and in many places there were inflammablestores. Now and then an explosion of powder shot up in the air. Whereone fancied one's self out of danger the fire came racing on swiftwings. 

"There will be only the river left, " said some one. 

The crowd grew more dense. Pierre felt that he could hardly get to thegate. Then men with axes and hatchets hewed down the palisades, and, hebeing near, made a tremendous effort, and pushed his way outside. Therewas still crowd enough, but they soon came to a freer space, and he laidhis burthen down, standing over her that no one might tread on her. 

"O Jeanne, are you safe? Thank heaven!"

Jeanne caught his hand and pressed it in both of hers. 

"If we could get to Wenonah!" she said. 

He picked up his burthen again, but it was very limp. 

"Open the blanket a little. I was afraid to have her see the flames. Yes, let us go on, " said Jeanne, courageously. 

Men and women were wringing their hands; children were screaming. Theflames crackled and roared, but out here the way was a little clearer. They forced a path and were soon beyond the worst heat and smoke. 

Wenonah's lodge was deserted. Pierre laid the poor body down, and Jeannebent over and kissed the strangely passive face. 

"Oh, she is dead! My poor, dear Pani!"

"I did my best, " said Pierre, in a beseeching tone. 

"Oh, I know you did! Pierre, I should have gone crazy if I had left herthere to be devoured by the flames. But I will try--"

She bathed the face, she chafed the limp hands, she called her by everyendearing name. Ah, what would he not have given for one such sweetlittle sentence!

"Pierre--your own people, " she cried. "See how selfish I have been totake you--"

"They were started before I came. Father was with them. They were goingup to the square, perhaps to the Fort. Oh, the town will all go. Theflames are everywhere. What an awful thing! Jeanne, what can I do? OJeanne, little one, do not weep. "

For now Jeanne had given way to sobs. 

There was a rushing sound in the doorway, and Wenonah stood there. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed, "I tried to get into the town, but could not. Thankthe good God that you are safe. And Pani--no, she is not dead, her heartbeats slowly. I will get her restored. "

"And I will go for further news, " said Pierre. 

Very slowly Pani seemed to come back to life. The crowd was pouring outto the fields and farms, and down and up the river. The flames were notsatisfied until they had devoured nearly everything, but they had notgone up to the Fort. And now a breeze of wind began to dissipate thesmoke, and one could see that Old Detroit was a pile of ashes and ruins. Very little was left, --a few buildings, some big stone chimneys, andheaps of iron merchandise. 

Pierre returned with the news. Pani was lying on the couch with her eyespartly open, breathing, but that was all. 

"People are half crazy, but I don't wonder at it, " said Pierre. "Thewarehouses are piles of ashes. Poor father will have lost everything, but I am young and strong and can help him anew. "

"Thou art a good son, Pierre, " exclaimed Wenonah. 

Many had been routed out without any breakfast, and now it was highnoon. Children were clamoring for something to eat. The farmers spreadfood here and there on the grass and invited the hungry ones. JacquesGiradin, the chief baker in the town, had kneaded his bread and put itin the oven, then gone to help his neighbors. The bakery was one of thefew buildings that had been miraculously spared. He drew out hisbread--it had been well baked--and distributed it to the hungry, glad tohave something in this hour of need. 

It was summer and warm, and the homeless dropped down on the grass, orin the military gardens, and passed a strange night. The next morningthey saw how complete the destruction had been. Old Detroit, the dreamof Cadillac and De Tonti, La Salle and Valliant, and many another hero, the town that had prospered and had known adversity, that had beenbeleaguered by Indian foes, that had planted the cross and the goldenlilies of France, that had bowed to the conquering standard of England, and then again to the stars and stripes of Liberty, that had brimmedover with romance and heroism, and even love, lay in ashes. 

In a few days clearing began and tents and shanties were erected fortemporary use. But poverty stared the brave citizens in the face. Fortunes had been consumed as well. Business was ruined for a time. 

Jeanne remained with Wenonah. Pani improved, but she had been feeble along while and the shock proved too much for her. She did not seem tosuffer but faded gently away, satisfied when Jeanne was beside her. 

Tony Beeson, quite outside of the fire, opened his house in his roughbut hospitable fashion to his wife's people. Rose had not fared so well. Pierre was his father's right hand through the troublous times. Many ofthe well-to-do people were glad to accept shelter anywhere. The Fleuryshad saved some of their most valuable belongings, but the house had goneat last. 

"Thou art among the most fortunate ones, " M. Loisel said to Jeanne aweek afterward, "for thy portion was not vested here in Detroit. I amvery glad. "

It seemed to Jeanne that she cared very little for anything save thesorrows and sufferings of the great throng of people. She watched byPani through the day and slept beside her at night. "Little one, " thefeeble voice would say, "little one, " and the clasp of the hand seemedenough. So it passed on until one day the breath came slower andfainter, and the lips moved without any sound. Jeanne bent over andkissed them for a last farewell. Father Rameau had given her the sacredrites of the Church, and said over her the burial service. A faithfulwoman she had been, honest and true. 

And this was what Monsieur St. Armand found when he returned to Detroit, a grave girl instead of the laughing child, and an old town in ashes. 

"I have news for you, too, " he said to Jeanne, "partly sorrowful, partlyconsoling as well. Two days after reaching her convent home, your motherpassed quietly away, and was found in the morning by one of the sisters. The poor, anxious soul is at peace. I cannot believe God means one to beso troubled when a sin is forgiven, especially one that has been amistake. So, little one, if thou hadst listened to her pleadings thouwouldst have been left in a strange land with no dear friend. It is bestthis way. The poor Indian woman was nearer a mother to thee. "

A curious peace about this matter filled Jeanne Angelot's soul. Hermother was at rest. Perhaps now she knew it was not sinful to be happy. And for her father's sake it was better. He could not help but think ofthe poor, lonely woman in her convent cell, expiating what sheconsidered a sin. 

"When Laurent comes we will go up to your beautiful island, " he said. "Ihave bidden him to join me here. "

Jeanne took Monsieur around to the old haunts: the beautiful woods, thestream running over the rocky hillside, the flowers in bloom that hadbeen so fateful to her, the nooks and groves, the green where they putup the Maypole, and her brave old oak, with its great spreadingbranches and wide leaves, nodding a welcome always. 

One day they went down to the King's wharf to watch a vessel coming upthe beautiful river. The sun made it a sea of molten gold to-day, theair was clear and exhilarating. But it was not a young fellow who leapedso joyously down on to the dock. A tall, handsome man, looking somethinglike his own father, and something like hers, Jeanne thought, for hiseyes were of such a deep blue. 

"There is no more Old Detroit. It lies in ashes, " said M. St. Armand, when the first greetings were over. "A sorrowful sight, truly. "

"And no little girl. " Laurent smiled with such a fascination that itbrought the bright color to her face. "Mademoiselle, I have beenthinking of you as the little girl whose advice I disdained and had aducking for it. I did not look for a young lady. I do not wonder nowthat you have taken so much of my father's heart. "

"We can give you but poor accommodations; still it will not be for long, as we go up North to accept our cousin's hospitality. You will bedelighted to meet the Sieur Angelot. The Fleury family will be glad tosee you again, though they have no such luxuriant hospitality asbefore. "

They all went to the plain small shelter in which the Fleurys werethankful to be housed, and none the less glad to welcome their friends. They kept Jeanne to dinner, and would gladly have taken her as a guest. M. Loisel had offered her a home, but she preferred staying withWenonah. Paspah had never come back from his quest. Whether he had metwith some accident, or simply found wild life too fascinating to leave, no one ever knew. To Wenonah it was not very heart-breaking. 

"Oh, little one, " she said at parting, "I shall miss thee sorely. Detroit will not be the same without thee. "

And then Jeanne Angelot went sailing up the beautiful lakes again, pastshores in later summer bloom and beauty and islands that might be fairyhaunts. They were enchanted bowers to her, but it was some time beforeshe knew what had lent them such an exquisite charm. 

So she came home to her father's house and met with a warm welcome, anoisy welcome from two boys, who could not understand why she would notclimb and jump, though she did run races with them, and they were alwayshanging to her. 

"And you turn red so queerly sometimes, " said Gaston, much puzzled. "Ican't tell which is the prettier, the red or the white. But the redseems for M. St. Armand. "

Loudac and the dame were overjoyed to see her again. The good dame shookher head knowingly. 

"The Sieur will not keep her long, " she said. 

Old Detroit rose very slowly from its ashes. In August Governor Hullarrived and found no home awaiting him, but had to go some distance to afarm house for lodgings. He brought with him many eastern ideas. The oldstreets must be widened, the lanes straightened, the houses made moresubstantial. There was a great outcry against the improvements. OldDetroit had been good enough. It was the center of trade, it commandedthe highway of commerce. And no one had any money to spend on foolery. 

But he persevered until he obtained a grant from Congress, and set towork rectifying wrongs that had crept in, reorganizing the courts, andrevising property deeds. The old Fort was repaired, the barracks put inbetter shape, the garrison augmented. 

But the event the Sieur Angelot had feared and foreseen, came to pass. Many difficulties had arisen between England and the United States, andat last culminated in war again. This time the northern border was thegreatest sufferer on land. The Indians were aroused to new fury, thedifferent tribes joining under Tecumseh, resolved to recover theirhunting grounds. The many terrible battles have made a famous page inhistory. General Hull surrendered Detroit to the British, and once morethe flag of England waved in proud triumph. 

But it was of short duration. The magnificent victories on the lakes andGenerals Harrison's and Winchester's successes on land, again changedthe fate of the North. Once more the stars and stripes went up overDetroit, to remain for all time to come. 

But after that it was a new Detroit, --wide streets and handsomebuildings growing year by year, but not all the old landmarksobliterated; and their memories are cherished in many a history andromance. 

Jeanne St. Armand, a happy young wife, with two fathers very fond ofher, went back to Detroit after awhile. And sometimes she wondered ifshe had really been the little girl to whom all these things hadhappened. 

When Louis Marsac heard the White Chief had found his daughter and givenher to Laurent St. Armand, he ground his teeth in impotent anger. Butfor the proud, fiery, handsome Indian wife of whom he felt secretlyafraid, he might have gained the prize, he thought. She wasextravagantly fond of him, and he prospered in many things, but heenvied the Sieur Angelot his standing and his power, though he couldnever have attained either. 

Pierre De Ber was a good son and a great assistance to his father inrecovering their fortunes. After awhile he married, largely to pleasehis mother, but he made an excellent husband. He knew why Jeanne Angelotcould never have been more than a friend to him. But of his children heloved little Jeanne the best, and Madame St. Armand was one of hergodmothers, when she was christened in the beautiful new church of St. Anne, which had experienced almost as varying fortunes as the townitself. 

 * * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

 Obvious punctuation errors were corrected. 

 Page 4, "loops" changed to "loups". (the _shil loups_)

 Page 55, "Pere" changed to "Père". (And Père Rameau)

 Page 56, "Longeuils" changed to "Longueils". (even the De Longueils)

 Page 60, "considere dquite" changed to "considered quite". 

 Page 78, "mattter" changed to "matter". (for that matter)

 Page 270, "inquiried" changed to "inquired". (she inquired)

 Page 276, "he" changed to "She". (here. She bought)

 Page 315, "om" changed to "from". (from vague bits)

 Page 336, "beanty" changed to "beauty". (beauty was her)