"Oh, the idea!" Pierre laughed immoderately. "Why a man always marries a woman." "But your liking wouldn't help Marie." "Oh, Marie is all right. She will like him fast enough. And it will be gay to have a wedding. That is to be about Christmas." Jeanne was looking down the little slant to the cottages and the wigwams, and speculating upon the queerness of marriage. "I wish I had made as much fortune as Tony Beeson. But then I'm only a little past sixteen, and in five years I shall be twenty-one. Then I am going to have a wife and house of my own." "O Pierre!" Jeanne broke into a soft laugh. "Yes, Jeanne--" turning very red. The girl was looking at him in a mirthful fashion and it rather disconcerted him. "You won't mind waiting, Jeanne--" "I shan't mind waiting, but if you mean--" her cheeks turned a deeper scarlet and she made a little pause--"if you mean marrying I should mind that a good deal;" in a decisive tone. "But not to marry me? You have known me always." "I should mind marrying anyone. I shouldn't want to sweep the house, and cook the meals, and wash, and tend babies. I want to go and come as I like. I hated school at first, but now I like learning and I must crack the shell to get at the kernel, so you see that is why I make myself agree with it." "You cannot go to school always. And while you are there I shall be up to the Mich making some money." "Oh," with a vexed crease in her forehead, "I told you once before not to talk of this--the day we were all out in the boat, you remember. And if you go on I shall hate you; yes, I shall." "I shall go on," said the persistent fellow. "Not very often, perhaps, but I thought if you were one of the maids at Marie's wedding and I could wait on you--" "I shall not be one of the maids." She rose and stamped her foot on the ground. "Your mother does not like me any more. She never asks me to come in to tea. She thinks the school wicked. And you must marry to please her, as Marie is doing. So it will not be me;" she declared with emphasis. "Oh, I know. That Louis Marsac will come back and you will marry him." The boy's eyes flamed with jealousy and his whole face gloomed over with cruelty. "And then I shall kill him. I couldn't stand it," he continued. "I hate Louis Marsac! I hate you, Pierre De Ber!" she cried vehemently. The boy fell at her feet and kissed the hem of her frock, for she snatched away her hands. "No, don't hate me. I'm glad to have you hate him." "Get up, or I shall kick you," she said viciously. "O Jeanne, don't be angry! I'll wait and wait. I thought you had forgotten, or changed somehow. You have been so pleasant. And you smiled so at me this morning. I know you have liked me--" "If ever you say another word--" raising her hand. "I won't unless you let me. You see you are not grown up yet, but sometimes people are betrothed when they are little children--"