"But I want to be there. If my darling comes it is there she will search for me." When Wenonah found she could no longer keep her by persuasion or entreaty, she went home with her one day. The tailor's widow had taken some little charge of the place. It was clean and tidy. Pani drew a long, delighted breath, like a child. "Yes, this is home," she exclaimed. "Wenonah, the good Mother of God will reward you for your kindness. There is something"--touching her forehead in piteous appeal--"that keeps me from thinking as I ought. But you are sure my little one will come back, like a bird to its nest?" "She will come back," replied Wenonah, hardly knowing whether she believed it herself or not. "Then I shall stay here." She was deaf to all entreaties. She went about talking to herself, with a sentence here and there addressed to Jeanne. "Yes, leave her," said Margot. "She was good to me in my sorrow, and _petite_ Jeanne was an angel. The children loved her so. She would not go away of her own accord. And I will watch and see that no harm happens to Pani, and that she has food. The boys will bring her fagots for fire. I will send you word every day, so you will know how it fares with her." Pani grew more cheerful day by day and gained not only physical strength, but made some mental improvement. In the short twilight she would sit in the doorway listening to every step and tone, sometimes rising as if she would go to meet Jeanne, then dropping back with a sigh. The soldiers were very kind to her and often stopped to give her good day. Neighbors, too, paused, some in sympathy, some in curiosity. There were many explanations of the sudden disappearance. That Jeanne Angelot had been carried off by Indians seemed most likely. Such things were still done. But many of the superstitious shook their heads. She had come queerly as if she had dropped from the clouds, she had gone in the same manner. Perhaps she was not a human child. All wild things had come at her call,--she had talked to them in the woods. Once a doe had run to her from some hunters and she had so covered it with her girlish arms and figure that they had not dared to shoot. If there were bears or panthers or wolves in the woods, they never molested her. They recalled old legends, Indian and French, some gruesome enough, but they did not seem meet for pretty, laughing Jeanne, who was all kindliness and sweetness and truth. If she was part spirit, surely it was a good spirit and not an evil one. Then Pani thought she would go to Father Gilbert, though she had never felt at home with him as she did with good Pere Rameau. There might be prayers that would hasten her return. Or, if relics helped, if she could once hold them in her hand and wish--