Renée could hardly contain herself. Anywhere else she must have danced for joy. Of course, there would be Uncle Gaspard. And she almost believed Mère Lunde must have found her way home, since they had succeeded under such difficulties. And now familiar sights met their eyes. Here was the Missouri River coming to greet her mighty mother; Fort St. Charles with its hamlets, the bend in the river, the islands, the old town itself, the towers, the fort, the palisade rendered much stronger since the attack; the bluff with its rocky ledge, and then the wharf. Business was over. There was not much doing at this season, and nearly every one had gone home. A few parties were out canoeing or rowing on the river. The two Indians would return in spite of entreaties, and they bid their white guests good-by. Down along the levee the two girls, holding hands tightly, ran with all their speed. One hardly had a chance to see their faces. They turned up by the Government House, where a group of men sat smoking and enjoying the late afternoon coolness. Valbonais followed wonderingly. This was St. Louis! What had Indians or British hoped to gain by attacking so small a place, for he had thought of it as resembling Montreal or Quebec. Up the Rue de la Tour—there stood the shop door open—— “Uncle Gaspard! Dear Uncle Gaspard! we have come back!” cried Renée, flying in. It was not Uncle Gaspard, but François Marchand, growing white to the very lips at the apparition that met his gaze. Was it a dream? He hardly dared approach. The words died on his lips. Renée dropped the Indian girl’s hand and rushed through the half-open doorway. There was Mère Lunde in a chair outside, half hidden in the nest of vines, knitting leisurely. That for the moment did not surprise Renée. She caught the elder woman’s shoulder and almost shook her. “Where is my Uncle Gaspard? Tell me at once! Where is he? Where is he?” the child cried imperiously. Mère Lunde let her knitting fall and stared with wild eyes. “He!” she exclaimed tremulously. “He! Have you not met him? He set out almost at once for you. Oh, the good God and all the angels be praised! Now we will be happy again. Oh, child, my heart has broken for you! How did you escape?” All the color left Renée’s eager face. She stretched out her hands as if to clasp something. The eyes seemed dulled by some far, desperate gaze. “Uncle Gaspard! Gone!” she faltered. “Oh, did you not meet him? Child, he would not rest until he had set out. Is it thy pretty prank, little one? Is he staying behind to tell some one the story and then surprise us?” “He did not come!” she wailed, her heart throbbing with passionate grief. “We have not seen him. Oh, mère, mère, the cruel Indians have captured him! And I was so sure.”