He helped her into the canoe, and the next moment they were gliding up the lake. The village was a temporary one, twenty or thirty wigwams in a grove. Only the women and children were at home, the sweet-voiced young squaws in their calico skirts and blankets, the queer little mummy-like pappooses, the half-naked children. They brought out bows and arrows to sell, agates which they had found on the beach, Indian sugar in little birch-bark boxes, quaintly ornamented. "Tell them to gather some bluebells for me," said Eve. Her face had an expression of joyousness; every now and then she laughed like a merry girl. Paul repeated her request in the Chippewa tongue, and immediately all the black-eyed children sallied forth, returning with large bunches of the fragile-stemmed flowers, so that Eve's hands were full. She lingered, sitting on the side of an old canoe; she distributed all the small coins she had. Finally they were afloat again; she wondered who had suggested it. "There's a gleam already," she said, as they passed Jupiter Light. "Some day I should like to go out there." "I can take you now," Paul answered. And he sent the canoe flying towards the reef. She had made no protest. "He wished to go," she said to herself, contentedly. The distance was greater than she had supposed; it was twilight when they reached the miniature beach. "Shall we make them let us in, and climb up to the top?" suggested Paul. She laughed. "No; better not." She looked up at the tower. Paul, standing beside her, his arms folded, his head thrown back, was looking up also. "I can't see the least light from here," he said. Then again, "_Don't_ you want to go up?" "Well--if you like." It was dark within; a man came down with a lantern, and preceded them up the narrow winding stairway. When they reached the top they could see nothing but the interior of the little room; so down they came again, without even saying the usual things: about the probable queerness of life in such a place; and whether any one could really like it; and that some persons might be found who would consider it an ideal residence and never wish to come away. Though their stay had been so short, their going up so aimless, the expedition did not seem to Eve at all stupid; in her eyes it had the air of an exciting adventure. "They will be wondering where we are," said Paul, as he turned the canoe homeward. She did not answer, it was sweet to her to sit there in silence, and feel the light craft dart forward through the darkness under his strong strokes. Who were "they"? Why should "they" wonder? Paul too said nothing. Unconsciously she believed that he shared her mood. When they reached the camp he helped her out. "I hope you are not too tired? At last I can have the credit of doing something that has pleased you; I saw how much you wanted to go." He saw how much she had wanted to go!--that spoiled all. Anger filled her heart to suffocation.