l be the procession and the blessings--"

"And you will like that. Then we can be first to put some flowers on the
shrines, maybe."

That won Pani. So together they went. At the edge of the wood wild
flowers had begun to bloom, and they gathered handfuls. Little maple
trees just coming up had four tiny red leaves that looked like a
blossom.

There under a great birch tree was a small wooden temple with a
weather-beaten cross on top, and on a shelf inside, raised a little from
the ground, stood a plaster cast of the Virgin. Jeanne sprinkled the
white blossoms of the wild strawberry all around. Pani knelt and said a
little prayer.

Susette Mass ran to meet them.

"Oh, how early you are!" she cried. "And how beautiful! Where did you
find so many flowers? Some must go to the chapel."

"There will be plenty to give to the chapel. There is another shrine
somewhere."

"And they say you are not a good Catholic!"

"I would like to be good. Sometimes I try," returned Jeanne, softly, and
her eyes looked like a saint's, Susette thought.

Pani led the way to the other shrine and while the child scattered
flowers and stood in silent reverence, Pani knelt and prayed. Then the
throng of gayly dressed girls and laughing young men were coming from
several quarters and the procession formed amid much chattering.

Afterward there were games of various sorts, tests of strength, running
and jumping, and the Indian game of ball, which was wilder and more
exciting than the French.

"Oh, here you are!" exclaimed Rose De Ber. On one side was Martin
Lavosse, a well-favored young fellow, and on the other a great giant, it
seemed to Jeanne. For a moment she felt afraid.

"Why, it isn't Jeanne Angelot?" Pierre caught both hands and almost
crushed them, and looked into the deep blue eyes with such eagerness
that the warm color flew to Jeanne's forehead. "Oh, how beautiful you
have grown!"

He bent down a little and uttered it in a whisper. Jeanne flushed and
then was angry at herself for the rising color.

Pierre was fascinated anew. More than once in the two years he had
smiled at his infatuation for the wild little girl who might be half
Indian so far as anyone knew. No, not half--but very likely a little.
What a temper she had, too! He had nearly forgotten all her charms. Of
course it had been a childish intimacy. He had driven her in his dog
sledge over the ice, he had watched her climb trees to his daring, they
had been out in