trument on his crossed knees while
he altered its pitch.

"Are you not going to Colonel Menard's at all?" inquired the friar.

"It would be a great waste of good dancing not to," said the doctor
lazily. "But you haven't told me who else has lost a cow or had an
increase of goats while I was away."

"The death of even a beast excites pity in me."

"Yes, you are a holy man. You would rather skin a live Indian than a
dead sheep."

The doctor tried his violin, and was lifting it again to position when
Father Baby remarked:--

"They doubtless told you on the road that a party has come through from
Post Vincennes."

"Now who would doubtless tell me that?"

"The governor's suite, since they must have known it. The party was in
almost as soon as you left. Perhaps," suggested the friar, taking a
crafty revenge for much insolence, "nobody would mention it to you on
account of Monsieur Zhone's sister."

The violin bow sunk on the strings with a squeak.

"What sister?"

"The only sister of Monsieur Reece Zhone, Mademoiselle Zhone, from
Wales. She came to Kaskaskia with the party from Post Vincennes."

On Dr. Dunlap's face the unshorn beard developed like thorns on a mask
of wax. The spirit of manly beauty no longer infused it.

"Why didn't you tell me this at first?" he asked roughly.

"Is the name of Zhone so pleasant to you?" hinted the shrugging friar.
"But take an old churchman's advice now, my son, and make up your
quarrel with the lawyer. There will be occasion. That pretty young thing
has crossed the sea to die. I heard her cough."

The doctor's voice was husky as he attempted to inquire,--

"Did you hear what she was called?"

"Mademoiselle Mareea Zhone."

The young man sagged forward over his violin. Father Baby began to
realize that his revel was over, and reluctantly stuck his toes again
into his wooden shoes.

"Will you have something to eat and drink before you start?"

"I don't want anything to eat, and I am not going to Colonel Menard's
to-night."

"But, my son," reasoned the staring friar, "are you going to quit your
victuals and all good company because one more Zhone has come to town,
and that one such a small, helpless creature? Mademoiselle Saucier will
be at Menard's."

Dr. Dunlap wiped his forehead. He, and not the cool friar, appeared to
have been the dancer. A chorus of slaves singing on some neighboring
gallery could be heard in the pause of the violin. Beetles, lured by the
sh