and her gaze was as friendly as it was
frank.

Their scrutiny of each other was ended by her exclaiming:

"Why--you are not old! Not much older than Pierre, I believe! It must
be because you are so dirty that I thought you were a man like uncle."

"Thank you," he answered drily.

But she had no intention of offense. Accustomed all her own life to
the utmost cleanliness, in the beginning insisted upon by Angelique
because it was "proper," and by her guardian for health's sake, she
had grown up with a horror of the discomfort of any untidiness, and
she felt herself most remiss in her attentions, that she had not
earlier offered soap and water. Before he realized what she was about,
she had sped into the little outer room which the household used as a
lavatory and whirled a wooden tub into its centre. This she promptly
filled with water from a pipe in the wall, and having hung fresh
towels on a chair, returned to the living room.

"I'm so sorry. I ought to have thought of that right away. But a bath
is ready now, if you wish it."

The stranger rose, stammered a little, but accepted what was in truth
a delightful surprise.

"Well, this is still more amazing! Into what sort of a spot have I
stumbled? It's a log house, but with apparently, several rooms. It has
all the comforts of civilization and at least this one luxury. There
are books, too. I saw them in that inner apartment as I passed the
open door. The man looks like a gentleman in the disguise of a
lumberman, and the girl--what'll she do next? Ask me where I came from
and why, I presume. If she does, I'll have to answer her, and
truthfully. I can't fancy anybody lying to those blue eyes. Maybe she
won't ask."

She did, however, as soon as he reentered the living room, refreshed
and certainly much more attractive in appearance than when he had had
the soil and litter of his long wandering upon him.

"Oh! how much more comfortable you must be. How did you get lost? Is
your home far from here?"

"A long, long way;" and for a moment, something like sadness touched
his face. That look passed quickly and a defiant expression took its
place.

"What a pity! It will be so much harder to get word to your people.
Maybe Pierre can carry a message, or show you the road, once you are
strong enough again."

"Who's Pierre?"

"Mother Ricord's son. He's a woodlander and wiser even than she is.
He's really more French than Indian, but uncle says the latter race is
st