girl before,
Jean, and we must make sure you know just how to go about it."

That night Barbe snatched a few hours of sleep, being mindful of the
witchery of her eyes. But Jean toiled all night long, driving his yoke
of oxen to and fro between his cabin and his shipyard in the forest.
And he was not weary. His heart was light as air and sang with every
pulse. His strength and his star--he felt them equal to any crisis.

On the following afternoon, when it wanted yet an hour of high tide,
and the shadows of the maples were beginning to creep over the yellow
chips, all was ready. Full of a wild gayety, and untiring as a boy,
Barbe had worked all day, getting the sails bent, the stores on board,
the last of block and tackle into place. Suddenly, from a post of
vantage in the high-pointing bowsprit, she looked down the trail and
clapped her brown hands with a shout of delight.

"Mich' has come!" she cried. And Mich' Masson, striding into the open,
threw down a big red bundle on the chips.

"Pretty nigh ready?" he inquired. "Why, what is the matter, _mon
gar'_?"

Jean's face had fallen like his heart. There was no longer any
necessity of Barbe's sharing his adventure. But he hurried forward and
clasped his friend's hand.

"We've got to get away to-night," he stammered, struggling bravely to
make his voice sound cheerful. "The English are coming over here
to-morrow to find out what's going on--so it's time for us to be going
off! Barbe was to help me through with it."

Mich' held to Jean's hand, and glanced questioningly from his troubled
face to the girl's teasing one. But Barbe had burned her bridges and
saw no reason to be unmerciful.

"I suppose I'll have to be just crew and cabin-boy now, Mich'," she
pouted. "Jean was going to let me be first mate, and there wasn't to
be any crew."

A great joy broke over Jean's face, and Mich' removed his gray woolen
cap with a sweeping bow. But before either could reply there came from
a little way up the trail the excited yapping as of a dog that has
treed a partridge. The three looked at each other, their eyes wide
with apprehension. Then the report of a gun.

"The Englishman!" gasped Barbe. "He has not waited. Quick, hide, one
each side of the trail, and take him prisoner. Don't shoot him. He
was kind to me."

Jean snatched up his musket and the two men darted into the bush. By a
rope from the bulwarks Barbe swung herself lightly to the ground. In