e beautiful woods, the
stream running over the rocky hillside, the flowers in bloom that had
been so fateful to her, the nooks and groves, the green where they put
up the Maypole, and her brave old oak, with its great spreading
branches and wide leaves, nodding a welcome always.

One day they went down to the King's wharf to watch a vessel coming up
the beautiful river. The sun made it a sea of molten gold to-day, the
air was clear and exhilarating. But it was not a young fellow who leaped
so joyously down on to the dock. A tall, handsome man, looking something
like his own father, and something like hers, Jeanne thought, for his
eyes were of such a deep blue.

"There is no more Old Detroit. It lies in ashes," said M. St. Armand,
when the first greetings were over. "A sorrowful sight, truly."

"And no little girl." Laurent smiled with such a fascination that it
brought the bright color to her face. "Mademoiselle, I have been
thinking of you as the little girl whose advice I disdained and had a
ducking for it. I did not look for a young lady. I do not wonder now
that you have taken so much of my father's heart."

"We can give you but poor accommodations; still it will not be for long,
as we go up North to accept our cousin's hospitality. You will be
delighted to meet the Sieur Angelot. The Fleury family will be glad to
see you again, though they have no such luxuriant hospitality as
before."

They all went to the plain small shelter in which the Fleurys were
thankful to be housed, and none the less glad to welcome their friends.
They kept Jeanne to dinner, and would gladly have taken her as a guest.
M. Loisel had offered her a home, but she preferred staying with
Wenonah. Paspah had never come back from his quest. Whether he had met
with some accident, or simply found wild life too fascinating to leave,
no one ever knew. To Wenonah it was not very heart-breaking.

"Oh, little one," she said at parting, "I shall miss thee sorely.
Detroit will not be the same without thee."

And then Jeanne Angelot went sailing up the beautiful lakes again, past
shores in later summer bloom and beauty and islands that might be fairy
haunts. They were enchanted bowers to her, but it was some time before
she knew what had lent them such an exquisite charm.

So she came home to her father's house and met with a warm welcome, a
noisy welcome from two boys, who could not understand why she would not
climb and jump, though she did run r