"You frien' of Hugo Ennis," he said. "Den you is velcome an' me glad for see you, _mademoiselle_." He was a pleasant-faced, stocky and broad-limbed man of rather short stature, and his manner was altogether kindly and pleasant. The simplicity and cordiality of his manner was entirely in keeping with the ways of his family. It was curious that all the people she had met so far seemed to have come to an agreement in speaking well of Ennis. The man sat down, after the smallest of the children had swarmed all over him, and took off his Dutch stockings, waiting for the plenteous meal and the hot tea his wife was preparing. Meanwhile, to lose no time, he began to skin a pine marten. "Plent' much good luck dis time," he said, turning to Madge. "Five _vison_, vat you call mink, and a pair martens. Also one fox, jus' leetle young fox but pelt ver' nice. You want for see?" She inspected the pelts and looked at the animals that were yet unskinned, realizing for the first time how men went off in the wilds for days and weeks and months at a time, in bitterest weather, to provide furs for fine ladies. The darkness had come and the big oil lamp was lighted. The children played about her for a time and gradually sought their couches in bunks and truckle-beds. The man was relating incidents of the trapping to his wife, who nodded understandingly. Beaver were getting plentiful along the upper reaches of the Roaring; it was a pity that the law prevented their killing for such a long time. He had seen tracks of caribou, that are scarce in that region; but they were very old tracks, not worth following, since these animals are such great travelers. During this conversation Madge would listen, at times, and turn towards the door. She had a vague idea that Ennis might come, since the boy's account had been somewhat reassuring. When she finally went to bed behind an improvised screen in a corner of the big living-room, she was long unable to sleep, owing to obsessing thoughts that wouldn't be banished. Over and over again she reminded herself of all that had happened. It stood to reason that the man had written those letters; how could it be otherwise? The proofs in her hands were too conclusive to permit her to pay any heed to his denials. The amazing thing was that when one looked at him it became harder and harder to believe him capable of such wrongdoing.