it carefully through. It was a pocket bible of the
English version in old fashioned binding, and bore marks of long and
frequent use.

Little Wolf watched Antoinette's varying countenance as she turned
over the leaves. A ray of pleasure, at first, lighted up her sad,
wistful face, but slowly faded leaving her apparently more wan and sad
than ever, as she returned the volume in silence.

A vague suspicion of evil crept into Little Wolf's mind. How came
Antoinette's name in the book and why was she so silent, and why had
she appeared so satisfied to remain where they were, if she knew no
more about their present abode than she had professed, were a few of
the many questions, which awakened distrust, suggested to her busy
brain.

The chest had lost its interest and down came the cover with a bang,
sadly startling poor Antoinette, who had walked to the window to hide
her fast falling tears.

Little Wolf saw the tears and Antoinette felt that she had seen them,
and the way was made easy for her to say, "O, Miss DeWolf, I'm a child
of sorrow. I am sometimes almost overwhelmed with sorrow. Come, let us
sit down together, and I will try to tell you why it is. It seems but
a few days since I gaily roamed about my childhood's home, hand in
hand with brother Jim, or bloody Jim, as he is called."

"Bloody Jim your brother! It cannot be so!" interrupted Little Wolf in
amazement, "I thought he was a half breed."

"So he is a half breed; and he is also my half brother; my father was
of French descent and, when a young man, he went to the Red River
country and engaged in trapping, and trading with the Indians. For
several years he made his home principally among the Chippewas, and,
like many others of his class, married an Indian women; brother Jim
was the fruit of this marriage. His mother was accidentally drowned
when he was quite an infant; soon afterwards my father returned to
Canada, leaving his little son in charge of his Indian grandmother.
While there he became acquainted with my mother, whom he made his wife
with the understanding that she should accompany him to his wild home
and be a mother to his motherless child. Perhaps it may be a mystery
to you, Miss DeWolf, that a young and cultivated woman could have been
so readily induced to expose herself to the hardships and dangers of
frontier life."

"O, no!" broke in Little Wolf, enthusiastically, "not if she did it
for love."

"What do you know about love, Miss DeWo