could_ abide a fishy smell, Ruth," said Mrs. Young,
interposing. She paid the fisherman, and asked whether he fished in the
winter. He said "no," but gave no reason. He did not, as she had hoped,
pronounce the desired word. Then, after another gaze at Anne, he went
away, but turned twice to look back before he reached the end of the
garden.

"It can not be that he suspects!" murmured Anne.

"No; it's your face, child. Happy or unhappy, you can not help having
just the same eyes, hair, and skin, thank the Lord!"

They went upstairs and watched him from the window; he pushed off his
dug-out, got in, and paddled toward the village.

"More whiskey!" said Miss Lois, sitting down and rubbing her forehead.
"I wish, Ruth Young--I devoutly wish that I knew what it is best to do
_now_!"

"Then you think with me?" said Anne, eagerly.

"By no means. There isn't a particle of _certainty_. But--I don't deny
that there _is_ a chance. The trouble is that we can hardly stir in the
matter without arousing his suspicion. If he had lived in the village
among other people, it would not have been difficult; but, all alone in
that far-off cabin--"

Anne clasped her hands suddenly. "Let us send for Pere Michaux!" she
said. "There was a picture of the Madonna in his cabin--he is a Roman
Catholic. Let us send for Pere Michaux."

They gazed at each other in excited silence. Miss Lois was the first to
speak. "I'm not at all sure but that you have got hold of the difficulty
by the right handle at last, Anne," she said, slowly, drawing a long
audible breath. It was the first time she had used the name since their
departure from New York.

And the letter was written immediately.

"It's a long journey for a small chance," said the elder woman,
surveying it as it lay sealed on the table. "Still, I think he will
come."

"Yes, for humanity's sake," replied Anne.

"I don't know about humanity," replied her companion, huskily; "but he
will come for _yours_. Let us get out in the open air; I'm perfectly
tired out by this everlasting whispering. It would be easier to roar."

The letter was sent. Four days for it to go, four days for the answer to
return, one day for chance. They agreed not to become impatient before
the tenth day.

But on the ninth came, not a letter, but something better--Pere Michaux
in person.

They were in the fields at sunset, at some distance from the house, when
Anne's eyes rested upon him, walking along the countr