rother. There in the Mission House, built by Cree
converts, lived Julie Breton.

As the young flood swept him up-stream he wondered if already he had
been counted as lost by his friends at the post--for it was July;
whether the thoughts of Julie Breton sometimes wandered north to the lad
who had disappeared into the Ungava hills on a mad quest; or if, with
the others, she had given him up as starved or drowned--numbered him
with that fated legion who had gone out into the wide north never to
return.

Nearing the post, the canoe began to pass the floats of gill-nets set
for whitefish and salmon. He could now see the tepees of the Whale
River Crees, dotting the high shores, and below, along the beach, the
squat skin lodges of the Huskies, with their fish scaffolds and umiaks.
The spring trade was on.

Beaching his canoe at the Company landing, where he was welcomed as one
returned from the dead by two post Crees, Marcel, leading his dog by a
rawhide thong, sought the Mission House.

At his knock the door was opened by a girl with dusky eyes and masses of
black hair, who stared in amazement at the _voyageur_.

"Julie!" he cried.

Then she found her voice, while the blood flushed her olive skin.

"Jean Marcel! _vous etes revenu!_ You have come back!" exclaimed the
girl, continuing the conversation in French.

"Oh, Jean! We had great fear you might not return." He was holding both
her hands but, embarrassed, she did not meet his eager eyes seeking to
read her thoughts.

"Come in, _M'sieu le voyageur_!" and she led him gayly into the Mission.
"Henri, Pere Henri!" she called. "Jean Marcel has returned from the
dead!"

"Jean, my son!" replied a deep voice, and Pere Breton was vigorously
embracing the man he had thought never to see again.

"Father, your greeting is somewhat warmer than that of Julie," laughed
the happy youth, as the bearded priest surveyed him at arm's length.

"Ah, she has spoken much of you, Jean, this spring. None the worse for
the long voyage, my son?" he continued. "You will be the talk of Whale
River; the Crees said you could not get through. And you got your dogs?
We have only curs here, except those of the Huskies, and they are very
dear."

"The Huskies would not sell their dogs, Father. They were bringing them
to Whale River."

Then Marcel sketched briefly to his wondering friends the history of his
wanderings and his meeting with the Huskies on the Big Salmon.

As he finished the t