mostly used, even the Indian women were handy in fashioning them.

The young man had taken a seat and a plum, and was regaling his hostess
with the adventure.

"Curious that I should find the place so easily," and he smiled most
beguilingly. "Sometimes one seems led in just the right way."

For several reasons he preferred not to say he had heard the singing.

"Yes," and now she gave a soft, answering smile, as if there might be a
mysterious understanding between them. Miladi was often ennuied, now
that she was never really well, and the sight and voice of a young man
cheered her inexplicably.

"Every one knows her. She is the most fearless thing."

"I remember her when she was very little. How tall she has grown. A very
pretty girl."

"Youth always has a prettiness. It is the roundness and coloring. I
often long to go back and have it all over again. I should remain in
France. I do not see what there is in this bleak country to charm one."

"There was some talk of your going with my sister, was there not?"

"Yes. But I was too ill. And M. Destournier thought he could not leave.
He has many interests here."

Rose re-entered the room.

"I never tasted such delicious plums," the elder commented, in a pleased
tone. "I want some saved as long as they will keep."

"There is a quantity of them. I should have had to make another journey
but for M. Boulle," and she dropped a charming little courtesy.

"We might see if we could not find another tree."

"I doubt it."

"Will you stay some time?" asked miladi.

"They can do without me a while. Business is mostly over."

She raised her eyes, and they said she was pleased with the plan. Rose
busied herself about the room, then suddenly disappeared. She had seen
M. Destournier coming up the crooked pathway, and with a parcel in her
hand, went out to meet him.

"I thought of you. Miladi was delighted with hers. Some seagull must
have brought the pit across the ocean. It is so much finer than any we
have around here."

He broke it open, but the golden purple juice ran over his hand.

"It is the wine of sunshine. Here is to thy health, Rose of Quebec."

"M. Boulle is in there," nodding. "He came out in the wood and found me
up the tree," and she laughed gayly.

"Found thee----" Something sharp went to the heart of the man, and he
looked down into the fearless eyes, with their gay, unsuspecting
innocence.

"As if I could be lost in dear old Quebec!"

"Is it