arried in
Montreal. I stayed a year with him there, but found I was dying of
homesickness for the woods, and had to get back to them. But I went
up when you were born, and saw him and you regularly every year
after that, until he was ready to send you into the woods in the
summer-time."

"But before he came to York factory? Do you know anything of his
life then?

"Only hearsay. Stones of his brave deeds and big hunting on the
Labrador and westward! He had a sense of game that comes very
rarely; he moved with the animals instinctively, so that the best
pelts were always his. And he had luck. One year, he brought in
three of the six silver-fox skins taken that winter in the whole
of Canada. He was a wonderful hunter."

"But, Peter, did you ever hear anything about his relations with
the Indians?" Donald demanded. "Was he ever fond of a chiefs
daughter? Did he ever mar--?" One look at the old Indian's face
stopped the question, for, caught unaware, the rising of this
skeleton shook Rainy to the depths.

"No, master, no, n-o, n-n--"

"Peter, don't lie to me! You've never done it yet. I'm in too much
trouble to be lied to. I know the truth now, despite your denials,
so you might as well admit it. Didn't my father marry old Maria at
one time?

"Yes," said Peter simply. "But how did you know it?"

Then, Donald told his story in full, closing with his determination
to go to the factor and accept the conditions imposed.

But, at that, Peter Rainy protested violently.

"No," he cried, "never! Put no trust in that old wolf, Fitzpatrick.
Once he has got you under his heel, he'll grind and grind, until
there's not as much as powder left. What good for you to go away
West, eh? He'll let you get started well, and then along will come
queer rumors and unexplained things about you. At last, something
will drive you away, and you'll start again. Once more, you'll
be driven out, and so it will go. Do I not know? Have I not
seen it work?

"But I can't resist him, and have my whole family dragged through
the mud, can I?" Donald remonstrated, in despair.

"Yes, this man Fitzpatrick is bound to drag it through the mud
anyway. He hasn't waited all these years for his revenge to let it
slide through his hands that easily, has he, do you suppose? His
whole happiness in life now rests on your disgrace and that of your
family. It will come, whatever you may do, and it's much better to
fight to the last wolf than put your trust in