m down to the canoes.

"In th' big boat, lass, wid th' women," said the leader; "'tis more
roomy-like."

"I thank you, M'sieu, but I have my place. I cannot leave it." And she
stepped in her own canoe.

"Did ye iver behold such a shmile, Terence?" cried the little woman,
when the flotilla had strung into shape and the green summer shores were
slipping past. "'Tis like the look av th' Virgin in th' little Chapel av
St. Joseph beyant Belknap's skirts,--so sad and yet as fair as light!"

And so began with the slipping green shores, the airy summer sky laced
with its vanity of fleecy clouds, the backward journey to safety and De
Seviere.

The large party travelled at forced time, short camps and long pulls,
for, as the little woman told Maren at the next stop, they were hurrying
south to Quebec.

"Where th' ships sail out to th' risin' sun, ochone, and Home calls over
th' sea,--the little green isle wid its pigs an' its shanties, its
fairs an' its frolics, an' the merry face av th' Father to laugh at its
weddin's an' cry over its graves. Home that might make a lass forget
such a haythen land as this, though God knew if it would ever get out av
th' bad dreams at night!

"An' now will ye be afther tellin' us th' sthory av yer adventures, my
dear?"

Maren was cooking a broth of wild hen in the little pail of poor Marc
Dupre, across the fire, and the little woman was busy watching a bit
of bread baking on a smoothed plank. Her companion, a tall, fair-haired
woman with pale eyes, light as the grey-green sheen sometimes seen on
the waters before a storm, was reclining in tired idleness beside her.
This woman had not spoken to Maren, but her cold eyes followed her now
with an odd persistence.

"Or is it too wild and sad? If it gives ye pain, don't say a
word,--though, wurra! 'tis woild I am to hear!"

Maren looked up, and once more the smile that was stranger to her
features played over them in its old-time beauty.

"Nay,--why should I not tell so good a heart as yours?" said the girl
simply, and she began at the beginning and told the sorry tale through
to its end.

"And so he died, this young trapper with the soul of pearl, and I alone
go back to De Seviere with--with M'sieu the factor," she concluded
heavily.

"Mother av Heavin! An' which,--forgive me lass,--which man av the three
did ye love? For 'tis only love could be behind such deeds as these!"

The ready tears were swimming in the Irishwoman's blue eyes