r intelligence, stamina and skill as canoemen and
dog-drivers.

When he had packed his last load of winter supplies from the trade-house
to the Mission, he said with a laugh to Julie:

"Julie, we have made a good start, you and I. We have credit of three
hundred dollars with the Company."

The olive skin of Julie Breton flushed to the dusky crown of hair, but
she retorted with spirit:

"You are counting your geese before they are shot, M'sieu Jean. Merci!
But I am very happy with Pere Henri."

Pere Breton's laugh interrupted Jean's reply. "Yes, my son. Julie is
right. You are too young, you two, to think of anything but your souls."

"Some day, Julie, I will be a Company man and then you will listen to
Jean Marcel," and the lad who had cherished the memory of the girl's
oval face through the long winter and taken it with him into the dim,
blue Ungava hills, left the Mission with head erect and swinging stride.

"Jean, when are you going back to the bush?" inquired Gillies, as Marcel
entered the trade-house.

"My partners and I go next week, maybe."

"Well, I want you to take a canoe to Duck Island for me. We're
short-handed here, and you have just come down that coast. I promised
some Huskies to leave a cache of stuff there this summer."

Marcel's dark features reddened with pride. He had been put in charge of
a canoe bound on Company business. His crossing to the Big Salmon had
marked him at Whale River as a canoeman of daring--a chip of the old
block, worthy of the name Marcel.

"Bien! M'sieu Gillies, when do we start?"

"To-day, after dinner!"

Returning to the Mission elated, Marcel ate his dinner, made up his pack
while they wished him "Bon-voyage!" then went out to the stockade.

At the gate he was met simultaneously by the impact of a shaggy body and
the swift licks of an eager tongue. Then Fleur circled him at full
speed, yelping her delight, while she worked off the excitement of
seeing her playmate again, until, at length, she trotted up and nosed
his hand, keen for the daily rubbing of her ears which drew from her
deep throat grateful mutterings of content.

"I leave my petite chienne for a few days," he whispered into a hairy
ear. "She will be a good dog and obey Ma'm'selle Julie, who will feed
her?"

The puppy broke away and ran to the gate, turning to him with pricked
ears as she whined for the daily stroll into the scrub after snow-shoe
rabbits.

"Non, ma petite! We walk not to-day!"