ees and swung from branch to branch in the
wavering flecks of sunshine as she did only such a little while ago, all
would have been well. What was it restrained her? Was it the throng of
people? She had enjoyed startling them with a kind of bravado. That was
childhood. Ah, yes. Everybody grew up, and these wild antics no longer
pleased. Oh, could she not go back and have it all over again?

She had danced and laughed. Pierre had tried to keep her a good deal to
himself, but she had been elusive as a golden mote dancing up and down.
She seemed to understand what this sense of appropriating meant, and she
did not like it.

And then Martin Lavosse had been curious as well. Rose and he were not
betrothed, and Rose was like a gay humming bird, sipping pleasure and
then away. Madame De Ber had certainly grown less strict. But Martin was
still very young and poor, and Rose could do better with her pretty
face. Like a shrewd, experienced person she offered no opposition that
would be like a breeze to a smoldering flame. There was Edouard Loisel,
the notary's nephew, and even if he was one of the best fiddlers in
town, he had a head for business as well, and was a shrewd trader. M.
Loisel had no children of his own and only these two nephews, and if
Edouard fancied Rose before Martin was ready to speak--so the mother had
a blind eye for Rose's pretty coquetries in that direction; but Rose did
not like to have Martin quite so devoted to any other girl as he seemed
to be to Jeanne.

Jeanne had not liked it at all. She had been good friends and comrades
with the boys, but now they were grown and had curious ideas of holding
one's hand and looking into one's eyes that intensified the new feeling
penetrating every pulse. If only she might run away somewhere. If Pani
were not so old they would go to the other side of the mountain and
build a hut and live together there. She did not believe the Indians
would molest them. Anything to get away from this strange burthen
pressing down upon her that she knew not was womanhood, and be free once
more.

She rose presently and went in. Pani was a heap in the chimney corner,
she saw her by the long silver ray that fell across the floor.

"Pani! Pani!" she cried vehemently.

Her arms were around the neck and the face was lifted up, kissed with a
fervor she had never experienced before.

"My little one! my little one!" sighed the woman.

"Come, let us go to bed." There was an eagerness in