But the teacher went swiftly down the aisle before him. "Here is your gun," she said, and dragged it from behind the door. Her voice trembled a little; entreaty rose through the courage in her eyes. He took the rifle, turning it in his brawny hands to give it a close scrutiny. When, with a final click of the hammer, he raised his glance, the entreaty was gone; she stood with her arms folded, chin high, watching him. It was as though she measured him. His mouth worked in an unaccustomed smile. "Say, Mees," he said, "what ees dis you tole dose chillun ’bout de eart’ ees roun? You mek fun for dem, yaas?" There was a silent moment while the amazement came and went in her face; a touch of merriment dimpled her mouth. Then, "It is quite true," she answered, gravely, "the earth is round." "Roun’? Sacré, Mees, but we mus’ fall off." She shook her head. "Come, I will show you." And she led the way back to her desk, and taking a small globe in her hands, went through the usual explanation slowly, simply, with infinite patience, as she would have told a little child. But Laramie had convictions of his own. He had seen the great Pacific, oh, yes, often, when he had journeyed for the fur company to Nootka; and he had watched ships approach from the far horizon, but to see the masts first proved nothing; a vessel was most all sail. And it was true that once he had met a sailor who said he had taken a ship at Quebec and sailed straight on and on, and without turning back had found himself again at home. But plainly the man had lied, for how could one make la bon voyage up the Fraser, through the big lakes and down the St. Lawrence in a great vessel? Bah, every one knew it could only be done in a canoe. "De eart’ roun’?" he concluded. "No, no, Mees, you doan’ mek me beli’ve dat. But it ees gre’t joke; oui, a gre’t joke, ha, ha. Well, good-by, Mees. Tek care yourse’f." He shouldered the gun and strode away through the door. At the same time there was the snapping of a twig and a glimpse of retreating bare heels at the corner of the house, and while the Canadian moved down the river trail a pair of keen eyes, set in a ferret-shaped face, peered at him from behind the angle. They were the eyes of Lem Myers. When he had satisfied himself that Laramie was truly on his way he came cautiously to the threshold. The teacher was seated at her desk using her pencil with rapid, decisive strokes. He crossed the floor to the platform before she was conscious of his presence. "Well, Lem," and she smiled down at him, "are you waiting for me?" "Wal, yes; thort I’d wait an’ see it out." He slipped up behind her chair to look over her shoulder, bending his head as she moved her hand, the better to follow her work. "Oh, gee," he exclaimed suddenly, slapping his knees, "gee. You’re a-settin’ here a-makin’ er picture of him, an’ I ’lowed all ther time you was scared." "Scared?" She suspended her pencil to look at him.