And Jeanne should see it. What
did he care for Susette's shining eyes!

Two or three supple young fellows, two older ones with a well-seasoned
appearance, stood on the mark. Pierre eyed it.

"No," he said, "it is not fair. I'm a sight heavier than those. And I
won't take the glory from them. But if you are all agreed I'll try the
other."

"Why, man, the other is a deal harder."

Pierre nodded indifferently.

The first started like a young athlete; a running jump and it fell
short. There was a great laugh of derision. But the second was more
successful and a shout went up. The next one leaped over the mark. Four
of them won.

Rose was piqued that Martin should sit all this while on the grass
chatting to Jeanne. She came around to them.

"Pierre is going to jump," she announced. "I'm sorry, but they badgered
him into it. They were really envious of his dancing."

Jeanne rose. "I do wonder where Pani is!" she said. "Shall we go
nearer?"

"Oh, Pani is with the Indian women over there at the booths. No, stay,
Jeanne," and Rose caught her hand. "Look! look! Why, they might almost
be birds. Isn't it grand? But--Pierre--"

She might have spared her anxiety. Pierre came over with a splendid
flying leap, clearing the bar better than his predecessor. A wild shout
went up and Pierre's hand was clasped and shaken with a hearty approval.
The girls crowded around him, and all was noisy jollity. Jeanne simply
glanced up and he caught her eye.

"I have pleased her this time," he thought.

The racing of the squaws, though some indeed were quite young girls, was
productive of much amusement. This was the only trial that had a prize
attached to it,--a beautiful blanket, for money was a scarce commodity.
A slim, young damsel won it.

"Jeanne," and Pierre bent over her, for, though she was taller than the
average, he was head and almost shoulders above her, "Jeanne, you could
have beaten them all."

She flushed. "I do not run races anymore," she returned with dignity.

He sighed. "That was a happy old time. How long ago it seems!
Jeanne--are you glad to see me? You are so--so grave. And all the time I
have been thinking of the child--I forgot you were to grow."

Some one blew a horn long and loud that sent echoes among the trees a
thousand times more beautiful than the sound itself. The tables, if they
could be called that, were spread, and in no time were surrounded by
merry, laughing, chatting groups, who brought with