The stone part was cleared up and put in order. It had a big chimney, part of which was in the adjoining room. Denys spread about quantities of sweet grass to neutralize the musty smell; though the clear, beautiful air, with its mingled perfumes, was doing that. On the shelves he spread some of his wares, implements of different sorts were ranged about the walls. Near the door was a counter; back of it two iron-bound chests, very much battered, that he had bought with the place and the small store of goods from the family of the dead owner. These held his choicest treasures, many of which he had brought from Quebec, which were to please the ladies. The voyages up and down the river were often tedious, and sometimes the traders were attacked by river pirates, who hid in caves along the banks and drew their boats up out of sight when not needed. Peltries and lead went down to New Orleans, wheat and corn and imported articles were returned. There were some troublesome restrictions, and about as much came overland from Detroit. If Renée made friends with the Renaud household, they had no power to win her from Uncle Gaspard. They had insisted on his accepting their hospitality, though he devoted most of his time to the work he was hurrying forward. Now and then he came just at dusk and spent the night, but was always off early in the morning before Renée was up. She often ran up the street, sometimes reaching the house before he started. The children were ready enough to go with her, but she liked best to be alone. She had a curious, exclusive feeling about him, young as she was. “But he is not your true uncle,” declared Elise, one day when she had laid her claim rather strenuously. “Mamma said so. Your uncles have to be real relations.” “But he said when we were in Quebec that he _was_ my uncle—that I was to be his little girl,” was the defiant rejoinder. “And if your gran’père had not agreed?” “I would never have stayed there. It makes me shiver now. I would—yes, I would have run away.” “He is not like our gran’père, who is a lovely old man, living up by the Government House. And gran’mère gives us delightful little cakes when we go there. And there are uncles and aunts, real ones. Barbe is our aunt.” Renée’s small heart swelled with pride and a sense of desolation. She had gathered already that Grandpapa Freneau was not at all respected; and there were moments when she felt the solitariness of her life—the impression that she had in some sense been cast off. “But my father is at the palace of the King of France. He came to see me on an elegant horse, and his clothes were splendid. And there are two little brothers. Oh, such fine people as there are in Paris.” That extinguished the little girls. It was true that now the French had gotten over their soreness about the transfer. They never meddled with politics, but they still loved the old flag. The Spanish governors had been judicious men thus far.