how? It did not take long for Perritaut _père_ to settle that question. _Voilà tout._ The young men should seek white wives. They had money. They might marry poor girls, but white ones. But the girls? _Eh bien_! Money should wash them also, or at least money should bleach their descendants. For money is the Great Stain-eraser, the Mighty Detergent, the Magic Cleanser. And the stain of race is not the only one that money makes white as snow. So the old gentleman one day remarked to some friends who drank wine with him, that he would geeve one ten tousant tollare, begare, to te man tat maree his oltest daughtare, Mathilde. _Eh bien_, te man must vary surelee pe w'ite and _re_-spect-_ah_-ble. Of course this confidential remark soon spread abroad, as it was meant to spread abroad. It came to many ears. The most utterly worthless white men, on hearing it, generally drew themselves up in pride and vowed they'd see the ole frog-eatin' Frenchman hung afore they'd many his Injin. They'd druther marry a Injin than a nigger, but they couldn' be bought with no money to trust their skelp with a Injin. Not so our friend Dave. He wurn't afeared of no Injin, he said; sartainly not of one what had been weakened down to half the strength. Ef any man dared him to marry a Injin and backed the dare by ten thousand dollars, blamed ef he wouldn't take the dare. He wouldn' be dared by no Frenchman to marry his daughter. He wouldn't. He wa'n't afeard to marry a Injin. He'd cawntrack to do it fer ten thousand. The first effect of this thought on Dave's mind was to change his view of the county-seat question. He shook his head now when Plausaby's brick court-house was spoken of. The squire was awful 'cute; too 'cute to live, he said ominously. Dave concluded that ten thousand dollars could be made much more easily by foregoing his preferences for a white wife in favor of a red one, than by cawntracting to set out shade-trees, dig post-holes, or drive oxen. So he lost no time in visiting the old trader. [Illustration: A PINCH OF SNUFF.] He walked in, in his slouching fashion, shook hands with M. Perritaut, gave his name as David Sawney, cawntracter, and after talking a little about the county-seat question, he broached the question of marriage with Mathilde Perritaut. "I hearn tell that you are willin' to do somethin' han'some fer a son-in-law." "Varee good, Mistare Sonee. You air a man of bisnees, perhaps, maybe. You undairstand tese tings. Eh? _Très bien_--I mean vary well, you see. I want that my daughtare zhould maree one re-spect-_ah_-ble man. Vare good. You air one, maybe. I weel find out. _Très bien, you_ see, my daughtare weel marree the man that I zay. You weel come ovare here next week. Eef I find you air respect-_ah_-ble, I weel then get my lawyare to make a marriage contract." "A cawntrack?" said Dave, starting at the sound of his favorite word. "Very well, musheer, I sign a cawntrack and live up to it."