im to the soul.

"This way, M'sieu." He was plunging ahead, keeping pace with some
tumultuous thoughts.

"Ah----!"

"And see--you have been careless. You are sowing plums along the way.
This is no place for them to take root."

She gave a little laugh as well, though she had begun in a sharp tone.

He had pressed the side of his slight receptacle and made a yawning
crack in it.

"Well, now you must gather that great leaf and patch it. Here are some
pine needles. I sew with them sometimes. You do not need a thread."

Was she laughing at him?

He managed to repair the damages, and picked up the plums he had not
trodden upon, that were yielding their wine-like fragrance to the air.

"Which way do you go, M'sieu?" she asked, with unconscious hauteur.

"Why--to M. Destournier's. I called on miladi, and she sent me to find
you in some wood, she hardly knew where. And I have brought you safely
back."

"M'sieu, I have come back many a time in safety without you."

Her voice had a suggestion of dismissal in it.

"I must present my spoils to Madame. No, I believe they are yours, you
were the discoverer, you made the purple shower that I only helped
gather."

She skipped up the steps lightly. How dainty her moccasined feet were!
The short skirt showed the small ankles and the swell of the beautiful
leg. Her figure was not a whit behind his sister's convent-trained one,
but she was fearless as a deer.

Miladi sat out on the gallery in her chair, that could be moved about
with ease by a small lever at the side. Looking down at the youthful
figures, the thought beset her that haunts all women, that here was
material for a very fortunate match. He was much superior to Pierre
Gaudrion.

"The trophies of the hunt," Boulle exclaimed gayly. "The huntress and
the most delicious harvest. I have seen nothing like it."

"I found some plums, a tree quite by itself, and only two branches of
fruit. We must send some of the best pits to M. Hebert. And I shall
plant a row in the Sieur's garden."

She brought out a dish and took them carefully from the birch-bark
receptacle. The exquisite bloom had not been disturbed.

"I will get a dish for yours," she said to the young man.

"Mine were the gleanings," he laughed.

Miladi's eyes glowed at the sight of the feast. Rose had not emptied all
of hers out, and now she laid three beauties in the corner of the
cupboard, looking around until she espied a pan. Wooden platters were