he last task
of straightening themselves upon the softness of the unwonted couch, the
little woman looked up across her at the man with a world of questions
in her face.

"Poor darlin'!" she said softly. "Whativer is it, Terence?"

"A heroine, if all she says be thrue, an' as unconscious of it as a
new-born babe!"

When Maren awoke the sun was straight overhead and some one had been
calling from a distance for a very long time.

"Come, come, asthore! Opin yer eyes! That's it! A little more, now. Wake
up, for love av Heaven, or we'll all be overtaken be th' Injuns!"

Ah! Indians! At that she opened her eyes and looked into the pretty blue
ones she remembered last.

The little woman was kneeling beside her with an arm about her shoulder,
trying to lift her heavy head and falling short in the endeavour.

Maren was too much in her muscled height for the bird-like creature. She
sat up at once and looked around. The canoes were in the water, all the
miscellaneous luggage had been put aboard, and every one was ready for
a new start. Only herself, the blanket bed, and the little woman were
unready.

Just below, her own canoe, with Brilliers, Wilson, Frith, McDonald,
and Alloybeau in place, waited her presence. She could see, from the
elevation of the shore, the stretched form of McElroy in the bottom,
a bright blanket beneath him and his fair head pillowed on a roll of
leaves. A shelter of boughs hid his face, and for one moment her heart
stopped while the river and the woods, the people and the boats whirled
together in a senseless blur.

She sprang to her feet.

"Is he--" she faltered thickly, "is he--"

"No, no, dearie! He is like he was, only they have fixed him a bit av a
shelther from th' sun. Do ye dhrink this now," she coaxed in her pretty
voice; "dhrink it, asthore,--ye'll nade it f'r th' thrip."

She held up a bowl of broth, steaming and sweet as the flesh-pots of
Egypt, and Maren took it from her.

"But--did M'sieu--Oh, I have slept when I should have tended him!"

"Ye poor girl. Dhrink,--he has been fed like a babe be me own hands.
There!"

There were tears in the little woman's eyes, and Maren took the bowl and
drained it clear.

"You are good, Madame," she said, with a long breath. "Merci! How good
to those in need! But now am I right as a trivet and shamed that I must
fail at the last. Are you ready?"

She picked up the blankets, smiled at the tall man who came for them,
and walked with the