"But, ya-as, Mees," he answered, and smiled broadly, "I ees keel dem by Myers’ plas. You know where de creek ees come roun’ dat ole fir log; well, it ees dare I shoot dem. Dis one she ees come tek drink; she doan be so hard shot, for sure. But dis one, saprie, he ees fool me gre’t; running an’ flying, w-r-r-r, w-r-r-r, an’ hiding heemself unner dat beeg cedar stump." His enthusiasm was reflected in her face; her eyes caught from his a sudden fire. "Oh," she said with a soft intake of breath, "I know just how it happened. And he was out again in a flash, almost at your feet; you hadn’t room to aim, but you waited and held yourself in, till he rose; then you took him, nice and clean, in the wing." "Monjee, Mees," he said, and laughed aloud, "but you ees on’stan’ lak you ees dare." He shifted the birds to the gun hand, and closing the gate, set the pin. "But it ees good t’ing I ees fin’ dose grouse, nawitka; for I ees see mo’sieur, de Judge, down to Myers’ plas. He mus’ be long here ’bout dinner tam, for sure." "So soon?" she answered in surprise. "I thought from his last letter that he would be delayed longer at the mills. But it is fortunate that we have the grouse," and the corners of her mouth lifted and dimpled; "we’ll show him the right way to serve a bird." "Nawitka, Mees." Mose was feeling in the depths of his blouse. "But Eben Myers, he ees go pas’ de Station today, an’ he ees tell me to bring you dis mail." He paused to scrutinize the address and weigh the letter speculatively in his palm. "Saprie, it ees good t’ing Mose Laramie doan’ have to write so mooch spelling, an’ mebbe read it all. Monjee, he doan’ be able, den, to shoot some birds, an’ fish by de Nisqually. Den, Mees, it ees pos’ble you ees be, sometams, hongry." She laughed, shaking her head. "But you are learning, Mose. The trouble was in having three languages forced on you at the start. They were bound to tangle, and I guess the English was caught in the first knot at the bottom of the snarl. But it’s all right; we only need a little more patience and time." She walked on with the boy towards the cottage, opening the letter as she went, but when she glanced down the page the humor faded from her face. She reached the branch path to the river, and turned that way. The letter was from her sister; the first she had received since Louise’s rupture with Philip. She dwelt on the Judge’s return and the closing of the mills. He had told her that Forrest had saved the property; that he had met emergency after emergency with a level-headedness not one young man in five hundred could have shown. Why, there were times when he had done the work of three responsible men, and most creditably. But at last, when she had finished the Judge’s eulogy, to which was added one gently eloquent of her own, she took up briefly the matter of the separation. Alice turned back and slowly re-read this portion.