he three-legged
puppy, for a gun and a dog should ever go together; then, being of the
womankind aforesaid, she began to cry as she kissed her pet good-bye on
its cold, wet nose.

"Wat's dis?" said Poleon, and his voice quavered, for these childish
fingers tore at his heart-strings terribly.

"He's a very brave doggie," said the little girl. "He will scare de
bears away!" And then she became dissolved in tears at the anguish her
offering cost her.

Doret caressed her as he had her brother, then placed the puppy
carefully upon the blankets in the canoe, where it wagged a grateful
and amiable stump at him and regained its breath. It was the highest
proof of Molly's affection for her Poleon that she kept her tear-dimmed
eyes fixed upon the dog as long as it was visible.

The time had come for the last good-bye--that awkward moment when human
hearts are full and spoken words are empty. Burrell gripped the
Frenchman's hand. He was grateful, but he did not know.

"Good-luck and better hunting!" he said. "A heavy purse and a light
heart for you always, Poleon. I have learned to love you."

"I want you to be good husban', M'sieu'. Dat's de bes' t'ing I can wish
for you."

Gale spoke to him in patois, and all he said was:

"May you not forget, my son."

They did not look into each other's eyes; there was no need. The old
man stooped, and, taking both his children by the hand, walked slowly
towards the house.

"Dis tam' I'll fin' it for sure," smiled Poleon to Necia.

Her eyes were shining through the tears, and she whispered, fervently:

"I hope so, brother. God love you--always."

It was grief at losing a playmate, a dear and well-beloved companion.
He knew it well, and he was glad now that he had never said a word of
love to her. It added to his pain, but it lightened hers, and that had
ever been his wish. He gazed on her for a long moment, taking in that
blessed image which would ever live with him--in his eyes was the light
of a love as pure and clean as ever any maid had seen, and in his heart
a sorrow that would never cease.

"Good-bye, li'l' gal," he said, then dropped her hand and entered his
canoe. With one great stroke he drove it out and into the flood, then
headed away towards the mists and colors of the distant hills, where
the Oreads were calling to him. He turned for one last look, and flung
his paddle high; then, fearing lest they might see the tears that came
at last unhindered, he began to sin