"I go to pray," Mantelle rejoined and passed on. Amused and thoughtful, Law looked after the tall, thin, bent figure. He recalled how the patient old soul taught and encouraged the children, held the older ones—children too, in their simplicity and superstition—to the plain, common paths of life with what success he might; remembered how day or night he travelled near and far to watch with the dying or comfort those from whom death had torn their sacredest and best. "At such," Law thought, "one cannot scoff." And just then a fragrant odour came to Anderson Law. Pleasant and welcome it was. He looked up and, at a little distance, saw Mam’selle at her outdoor oven, pushing into its yawning mouth a tray of noble loaves of bread. Down went Law’s saw, out came his sketching pad; Jo before that oven was a sight for the reverent. "Eighteen loaves!" called Mam’selle, not realizing that she was becoming immortal, "eighteen loaves at a lick, Mr. Law, and but a drop in the bucket. The boys, whatever else was knocked out of them over there, managed to keep their stomachs. There’s no filling the lads up, but the good Lord knows that it’s little enough for us to do, trying to fill them." "To-morrow will be Friday," cried a cheery young voice from the highway, "so we must fish to-day, Mam’selle. I’m off to the river, but I swear I cannot get past the smell of your oven. And I wanted to tell you, I have my old job back. Hereafter I swing the light from the dock." Law and Jo turned. A boy in the garb of a great country stood leaning on his crutches, smiling; smiling, but with that look in his eyes that was never to depart. The look the trenches had put there; the hall mark of the world’s wrong to its young. "Ah! it’s that nice boy, Jean," laughed Jo eagerly. "Wait, son," the wounded and sick were all "sons" to Mam’selle now, "wait, here is a large, brown, hot loaf. Take it along to munch while you catch your fish. And it’s glad I am about the job, Jean. No one ever swung the lantern as you did. The _River Queen_ will perk up when she sees you back." Jean laughed and patted his hot loaf of bread. "Ah! Mam’selle. And to think I used to run from you when I was a silly lout of a kid. I did not know your great heart then, Mam’selle," he said. The boyish eyes were lifted to Jo’s face as she pressed the crisp loaf in his bag. "It’s my turn to run after you now," she said softly. "It is worth the run, though, son. You’re good sorts, the lot of you." Law was watching and listening. Jo affected him strangely. Lately he was aware of a glow whenever he got to thinking of her. If he meant ever to escape from Point of Pines he had better make a hasty retreat. That was what the glow meant. As if to challenge this state of mind Jo now came toward him.