was pretty to-day, did you,", he said with a grin,
"with a week's growth on my chin?"

She softly stroked his cheek. "Wah!" she said, laughing. "Lak
porcupine! Red man not have strong beard lak that. They say you
scrape it off with a knife every day."

"When I have the knife," said Ambrose.

"Why you do that?" she asked. "I lak see it grow down long lak my
hair. That would be wonderful!"

Ambrose trembled with internal laughter.

"I lak everything of you," she murmured.

He was much troubled between his gratitude and his inability to
reciprocate the naive passion she had conceived for him. It is
pleasant to be loved and flattered and exalted, but it entails
obligations.

"I never can thank you properly for what you've done," he said clumsily.

"I do anything for you," she said quickly. "So soon my eyes see you to
the dance I know that. Always before that I am think about white men.
I not see no white men before, only the little parson, and the old men
at the fort. They not lak you? My father is the same as me. He lak
white men. We talk moch about white men. My fat'er say to me never
forget the Angleys talk. Do I spik Angleys good, Angleysman?"

"Fine!" whispered Ambrose.

She pulled his head forward so that she could breathe her soft speech
directly in his ear.

"My father and me not the same lak other people here. We got white
blood. Men not talk with their girls moch. My fat'er talk man talk
with me. Because he is got no boys, only me. So I know many things.

"I think, women's talk foolish. Many tam my fat'er say to me, Angleys
talk mak' men strong. He say to me, some day Watusk kill me for cause
I spik the Angleys.

"So in the tam of falling leaves lak this, three years ago, my fat'er
he is go down the river to the big falls to meet the people from Big
Buffalo Lake.

"My fat'er and ten men go. Bam-by them come back. My fat'er not in
any dugout. Them say my fat'er is hunt with Ahcunza one day. My
fat'er is fall in the river and go down the big falls.

"They say that. But I know the truth. Ahcunza is a friend of Watusk.
Watusk give him his vest with goldwork after. My fat'er is dead. I am
lak wood then. My mot'er sell me to Watusk. I not care for not'ing."

"Your mother, sell you!" murmured Ambrose.

"My mot'er not lak me ver' moch," said Nesis simply. "She mad for
cause I got white blood. She mad for cause my fat'er all tam talk with
me."

"Three years ago!" sa