"Pani is very good to you. Mother complains that she spoils you and that you are being brought up like a rich girl." Jeanne laughed. "Pani never struck me in my life. She isn't quite like a mother, you see, but she loves me, loves me!" with emphasis. "There are so many for mother to love," and the girl sighed. "Jeanne," she began presently, "I want to tell you something. Mother said I must not mention it until it was quite settled. There is--some one--he has been at father's shop and--and is coming on Sunday to see mother--" Jeanne stood up suddenly. "It is Martin Lavosse," she said. "You danced with him. He is so gay. O Marie!" and her face was alight. "No, it is not Martin. I would not mind if it were. But he is so young, only eighteen." "You are young, too." Marie sighed again. "You have not seen him. It is Antoine Beeson. He is a boat builder, and has been buying some of the newly surveyed land down at the southern end. Father has known him quite a long while. His sister has married and gone to Frenchtown. He is lonely and wants a wife." "But there are many girls looking for husbands," hesitated Jeanne, not knowing whether to approve or oppose; and Marie's husband was such a new idea. "So father says. And we have five girls, you know. Rose is as tall as I and has a prettier face and dances like a sprite. And there are so many of the fur hunters and traders who drink and spend their money, and sometimes beat their wives. Margot Beeson picked out a wife for him, but he said she was too old. It was Lise Moet." Jeanne laughed. "I should not want to live with her, her voice goes through your head like a knife. She is little Jacques' aunt and the children are all afraid of her. How old is Antoine?" "Twenty-eight!" in a low, protesting tone. "Just twice as old as you!" said Jeanne with a little calculation. "Yes, I can't help but think of it. And when I am thirty he will be an old man sixty years old, bent down and wrinkled and cross, maybe." "O no, Marie," cried Jeanne, eagerly. "It is not that way one reckons. Everything does not double up so fast. He is fourteen years older than you, and when you are thirty he can only be fourteen years older than you. Count up on your ten fingers--that makes forty, and four more, he will be forty-four." Marie's mouth and eyes opened in surprise. "Are you quite sure?" with an indrawn breath. "O yes, sure as that the river runs to the lake. It is what they teach at school. And though it is a great trouble to make yourself remember, and you wonder what it is all about, then at other times you can use the knowledge and are happy and glad over it. There are so many queer things," smiling a little. "And they are not in the catechism or the prayers. The sisters shake their heads over them." "But can they be quite right?" asked Marie in a kind of awesome tone.