ried to be considerate, except in the matter of those
amazing lies. During the afternoon Mrs. Papineau, growing anxious,
sent little Baptiste over to enquire after him. The small boy
returned, saying that he had seen two squirrels and a rabbit on the
tote-road, and the track of a fox, and that he had found Hugo sitting
by the fire. And Hugo had declared that he was all right and--and
perhaps he wasn't pleased, because he spoke very shortly and had told
him to hurry home. So Baptiste had left, and on his way he had seen
partridges sitting on a fir sapling, and if he'd had a gun, or even
some rocks....

But this circumstantial narrative was interrupted by the barking of
the dogs. The sun was about setting. Madge looked out of the window,
while Mrs. Papineau rushed to the door. It was a man arriving with a
toboggan and two big dogs.

"Dat my man Philippe coming," announced the woman, happily.

She held the door open, letting in a blast of cold air, and the man
entered, tired with long tramping. From the toboggan he removed a load
of pelts, dead hares that would serve chiefly for bait, his blankets
and the indispensable axe. Mrs. Papineau volubly explained the guest's
presence and he greeted her kindly.

"You frien' of Hugo Ennis," he said. "Den you is velcome an' me glad
for see you, _mademoiselle_."

He was a pleasant-faced, stocky and broad-limbed man of rather short
stature, and his manner was altogether kindly and pleasant. The
simplicity and cordiality of his manner was entirely in keeping with
the ways of his family. It was curious that all the people she had met
so far seemed to have come to an agreement in speaking well of Ennis.

The man sat down, after the smallest of the children had swarmed all
over him, and took off his Dutch stockings, waiting for the plenteous
meal and the hot tea his wife was preparing. Meanwhile, to lose no
time, he began to skin a pine marten.

"Plent' much good luck dis time," he said, turning to Madge. "Five
_vison_, vat you call mink, and a pair martens. Also one fox, jus'
leetle young fox but pelt ver' nice. You want for see?"

She inspected the pelts and looked at the animals that were yet
unskinned, realizing for the first time how men went off in the wilds
for days and weeks and months at a time, in bitterest weather, to
provide furs for fine ladies.

The darkness had come and the big oil lamp was lighted. The children
played about her for a time and gradually sought the