ther
for us to inspect and show us marvellous handwork of silk embroidery on
white deerskin. The daintiest of dainty slippers calls forth the
question, "Where are you going to find the Cinderella for these?" A
blank look is my answer, for no one in Providence Convent has ever heard
of Cinderella! But then, convents are not supposed to be the
repositories of man-knowledge (although a half-breed, on our passage
across the lake, did whisper a romantic story of a Klondiker who
assailed this very fortress and tried to carry off the prettiest nun of
the north). The garden of the Sisters is a bower of all the
old-fashioned flowers--hollyhocks, wall-flower, Canterbury bells, and
sweet-William--and down in the corner a young girl of the Dog-Ribs
discovers to us a nest of fledgling chipping sparrows.

As we landed from the boat, Tenny Gouley dressed in his Sunday best had
beamed, "Nice day--go veesit." And "veesit" we did. Mrs. Herron, of the
H.B. Company, has spent many years at Old Fort Rae, and her thoughts
hark back to one severe winter spent there. She turns to the wife of our
good Captain with, "Hard living, Mrs. Mills, dry suckers." It is a short
speech, but fraught with meaning. I honestly think a dry sucker (well
sanded) the least succulent of all the impossible fish-dishes of the
North. There are many young Herrons all as neat as new pins, the
last--no, the latest, enshrined in a moss-bag. Tradition tells that
once, when they were fewer in number, the father took the flock out to
Winnipeg to school. The children cried so at the parting that Mr. Herron
turned and brought them all back with him to the Mackenzie!

[Illustration: David Villeneuve]

The most interesting man in all Fort Providence is David Villeneuve, one
of the Company's Old Guard. He was anxious to be "tooken" with his wife
and grandchild, and over the camera we chatted. David goes through life
on one leg--fishes through the ice in winter, traps, mends nets, drives
dogs, and does it all with the dexterity and cheerfulness of a young
strong man. He tells of his accident. "I was young fellow, me, when a
fish-stage fell on me. I didn't pay no notice to my leg until it began
to go bad, den I take it to the English Church to Bishop Bompas. He tole
me de leg must come off, an' ax me to get a letter from de priest (I'm
Cat-o-lic, me) telling it was all right to cut him. I get de letter and
bring my leg to Bompas. He cut 'im off wid meat-saw. No, I tak' not'in',