In spite of her protests Jeanne did feel deeply hurt that she should be left out. Marie had made a timid plea for her friend. "We cannot ask all the children in the town," said her mother emphatically. "And no one knows whether she has any real position. She is a foundling, and no company for you." Pani went down the river with her in the afternoon. She was gayety itself, singing little songs and laughing over everything so that she quite misled her nurse into thinking that she really did not care. Then she made Pani tell some old legends of the spirits who haunted the lakes and rivers, and she added to them some she had heard Wenonah relate. "I should like to live down in some depths, one of the beautiful caves where there are gems and all lovely things," said the child. "As if there were not lovely things in the forests. There are no birds in the waters. And fishes are not as bright and merry as squirrels." "That is true enough. I'll stay on the earth a little while longer," laughingly. "But look at the lovely colors. O Pani, how many beautiful things there are! And yet Berthe Campeau is going to Quebec to become a nun and be shut out of it. How can you praise God for things you do not see and cannot enjoy? And is it such a good thing to suffer? Does God rejoice in the pain that he doesn't send and that you take upon yourself? Her poor mother will die and she will not be here to comfort her." Pani shook her head. The child had queer thoughts. "Pani, we must go and see Madame Campeau afterward. She will be very lonely. You would not be happy if I went away?" "O child!" with a quick cry. "So I am not going. If Monsieur Bellestre wants me he will take you, too." Pani nodded. They noted as they went down that a tree growing imprudently near the water's edge had fallen in. There was a little bend in the river, and it really was dangerous. So coming back they gave it a sensibly wide berth. A canoe with a young man in it came flying up. The sun had gone down and there were purple shadows about like troops of spirits. "Monsieur," the child cried, "do not hug the shore so much. There is danger." A gay laugh came back to them and he flashed on, his paddle poised at a most graceful angle. "O Monsieur!" with eager warning. The paddle caught. The dainty canoe turned over and floated out of reach with a slight gust of wind. "Monsieur"--Jeanne came nearer--"it was a fallen tree. It was so dusk I knew you could not see it." He was swimming toward them. "I wonder if you can help me recover my boat." "Monsieur, swim in to the shore and I will bring the canoe there." She was afraid to risk taking him in hers. "Just down below to escape the tree." "Oh, thank you. Yes, that will be best." His strokes were fine and strong even if he was encumbered by his clothing. Jeanne propelled her canoe along and drove the other in to shore, then caught it with a rope. He emerged from his bath and shook himself.