ified
and conveniently collated. Unerringly from the stores of the past
she picked and chose and put together in the instant present, till
obscurity dropped from the woman before her, and she knew her, word
and deed and look and history.

"Much better you go 'way quickety-quick," How-ha informed her.

"Miss Welse. I wish to see her."

The strange woman spoke in firm, even tones which betokened the will
behind, but which failed to move How-ha.

"Much better you go," she repeated, stolidly.

"Here, take this to Frona Welse, and--ah! would you!" (thrusting her
knee between the door and jamb) "and leave the door open."

How-ha scowled, but took the note; for she could not shake off the
grip of the ten years of servitude to the superior race.

May I see you?

LUCILE.

So the note ran. Frona glanced up expectantly at the Indian woman.

"Um kick toes outside," How-ha explained. "Me tell um go 'way
quickety-quick? Eh? You t'ink yes? Um no good. Um--"

"No. Take her,"--Frona was thinking quickly,--"no; bring her up
here."

"Much better--"

"Go!"

How-ha grunted, and yielded up the obedience she could not withhold;
though, as she went down the stairs to the door, in a tenebrous,
glimmering way she wondered that the accident of white skin or swart
made master or servant as the case might be.

In the one sweep of vision, Lucile took in Frona smiling with
extended hand in the foreground, the dainty dressing-table, the
simple finery, the thousand girlish evidences; and with the sweet
wholesomeness of it pervading her nostrils, her own girlhood rose up
and smote her. Then she turned a bleak eye and cold ear on outward
things.

"I am glad you came," Frona was saying. "I have _so_ wanted to see
you again, and--but do get that heavy _parka_ off, please. How thick
it is, and what splendid fur and workmanship!"

"Yes, from Siberia." A present from St. Vincent, Lucile felt like
adding, but said instead, "The Siberians have not yet learned to
scamp their work, you know."

She sank down into the low-seated rocker with a native grace which
could not escape the beauty-loving eye of the girl, and with
proud-poised head and silent tongue listened to Frona as the minutes
ticked away, and observed with impersonal amusement Frona's painful
toil at making conversation.

"What has she come for?" Frona asked herself, as she talked on furs
and weather and indifferent things.

"If you do not say someth