my books in like manner, and say good-bye to them for me. I
could not so endure it of myself....

... It was six days later at the sports that I received a proposal of
marriage from Prosper, an Indian who is a trainer of horses. It was
not wholly a surprise, in that he had already approached the master of
our party with an overture to buy me. The master had hesitated to tell
me of this for fear I might be offended. "You see, Lady Jane," he
explained, "it is like that case in _Patience_ where the magnet wished
to attract the silver churn."

"Yes?" asked I, "and what did you say to him?"

"Oh! I told him he was a master-fool; that you were nothing but a
great cross-examiner who had the misfortune to be born a woman."

And his reply.

"He said he did not understand me but he saw you laughed a great deal
and showed your teeth. He says he would not beat you, but would be
very mild and agreeable with you."

Now, I was not offended, for the proposal from this young Apollo of the
forest only meant I was no longer regarded as a mysterious invader from
another and strange land.

Why should he not propose? In this northern world distinctions fall
away and all are equal. As a usual thing, the Indian regards a white
woman impersonally or with a half-contemptuous indifference. To him,
we are frail, die-away creatures deplorably deficient in energy, yet,
strange to relate, wholly lacking in the spirit of obedience. Scores
of ill-instructed novelists to the contrary, no Indian has ever
assaulted a white woman. This is an amazing fact when one considers
how, for nearly two centuries, the Indian has guided our women through
the forests; piloted them down the rivers; and has cared for them in
isolated outposts. The Indian has lived rough and lived hard, but, in
this particular, he is morally the most immutable of all God's
estimable menfolk.

When Prosper pleaded his case personally, he broke ice by requesting me
to accept a pair of doe-skin gauntlets more beautiful than ordinary.
In spite of my declining the gift, he asked "Will you marry with me?"
assuring me, at the same time, that I was his _saky hagen_, or "one
beloved." I would not have to travel far. He is one day from here if
there be wind, but two days with no wind. He likes the noise I make in
my throat when I laugh. The master explained to Prosper, "This is only
a way she has of gargling her throat beautifully," a wicked cynicism
which was lost on the