Then Jeanne forgot the somber garment of womanhood that shadowed her last night, and danced in the very gladness of her heart. Wenonah smiled and then sighed. What if this man of so many years should want to marry the child? Such things had been. And there was that fine young De Ber just come home. But then, a year was a good while. "I must go and tell Pani," and she was off like a bird. Oh, what a glad day it was! The maypole and the dancing were as nothing to it. After she had told over her news and they had partaken of a simple meal, she dragged the Indian woman off to her favorite haunt in the woods, where three great tree boles made a pretty shelter and where Pani always fell asleep. Bees were out buzzing, their curious accompaniment to their work. Or were they scolding because flowers were not sweeter? Yellow butterflies made a dazzle in the air, that was transparent to-day. The white birches were scattering their last year's garments, and she gathered quite a roll. Ah, what a wonderful thing it was to live and breathe this fragrant air! It exhilarated her with joy as drinking wine might another. The mighty spirit of nature penetrated every pulse. From a little farther up she could see the blue waters, and the distant horizon seemed to bound the lake. Would she ever visit the grand places of the world? What was a great city such as Quebec like? Would she stay here for years and years and grow old like Pani? For somehow she could not fancy herself in a home with a husband like Marie Beeson, or Madelon Freche, or several of the girls a little older than herself. The commonplaces of life, the monotonous work, the continual admiration and approval of one man who seemed in no way admirable would be slow death. "Which is a warning that I must not get married," she thought, and her gay laugh rippled under the trees in soft echoes. She felt more certain of her resolve that evening when Pierre came. "Where were you all the afternoon?" he said, almost crossly. "I was here twice. I felt sure you would expect me." Jeanne flushed guiltily. She knew she had gone to escape such an infliction, and she was secretly glad, yet somehow her heart pricked her. "Oh, you surely have not forgotten that I live half the time in the woods;" glancing up mischievously. "Haven't you outgrown that? There was enough of it yesterday," he said. "You ought not to complain. What a welcome you had, and what a triumph, too!" "Oh, that was not much. You should see the leaping and the wrestling up north. And the great bounds with the pole! That's the thing when one has a long journey. And the snowshoes--ah, that is the sport!" "You liked it up there?" "I was desperately homesick at first. I had half a mind to run away. But when I once got really used to the people and the life--it was the making of me, Jeanne." He stretched up proudly and swelled up his broad chest, enjoying his manhood. "You will go back?" she asked, tentatively.