ed them, for there
was no glass and only a batten shutter, as if all the winged denizens of
the brilliant tropics were seeking entrance to this happy bower; the
room had an added woodland suggestion because of the bark adhering to
the logs of the walls, for the timbers of these primitive houses were
unhewn, although the daubing and the chinking were stout and close, and
with the aid of the great flaring fires stood off Jack Frost with a very
valiant bluff.

So many things had she brought in small compass. When the fire was
a-flicker on a dull wintry afternoon, and the snow a-whirl outside, and
the tropical birds quite still on their shadowy perches against the
closed batten shutters, Odalie, Hamish, Fifine, and the cat were wont to
congregate together and sit on the buffalo rug spread on the puncheon
floor beside the hearth, and explore sundry horns of buffalo or elk in
which many small articles of varying degrees of value had been compactly
packed. They all seemed of an age--and this a young age--when the joyous
exclamations arose upon the recognition of sundry treasured trifles
whose utility had begun to be missed.

"My emery bag!" her eyes dewy with delight, "and oh, my cake of wax!"

"And Lord!" exclaimed Hamish, "there's my bullet-mould--whoever would
have thought of that!"

"And your new ribbon; 'tis a very pretty piece," and Odalie let the
lustrous undulations catch the firelight as she reeled it out. "The best
taffeta to tie up your queue."

[Illustration: "And oh, the moment of housewifely pride!"]

"I don't intend to plait my hair in a queue any more," Hamish
declared contemptuously. "The men in this country," he continued with a
lofty air, "have too much men's work to do to busy themselves with
plaiting hair and wearing a bobbing pig-tail at their ears." He shook
his own dangling curls as he spoke.

Fifine babbled out an assortment of words with many an ellipsis and many
a breathy aspiration which even those accustomed to the infant
infirmities of her tongue could with difficulty interpret. Both Odalie
and Hamish, bending attentive eyes upon her, discerned at last the words
to mean that Mr. Gilfillan had no hair to plait. At this Hamish looked
blank for a moment and in consternation; Odalie exclaimed, "Oh, oh!" but
Fifine infinitely admired Mr. Gilfillan, and nothing doubted him worthy
of imitation.

"I'll have none, but for a different reason. I'll cut my lovely locks
close with Odalie's shears as