But the swift days of work were the days. They streamed past like a mountain torrent. Even sad and sorry Pete found it so. He smote his wedges with his maul and, lo and behold! a day was dead; and the stars sang above the hills and the starlight gleamed on the Fraser's shining flood. He laid his head, his cabeza, on a pillow (unwashed) and it was day. Again it was night. Yet for one the hours were strange and slow. She looked out from the house on the hill-side and saw the slow sun wheel his team into the West, as if his horses drew innumerable thousands and hundreds of the world's big freight. Poor Jenny, now plump and sweet and beautifully clad, and learned in the delights of hot water (of which Sam was a kind of prophet, for he loved baths as if he were a Japanese), found the days slow in spite of baths and clothes and cleanliness. The poor dear pined a little, as one might who had lived wildly, for the ruder joys of her earlier life. Things were onerous. She wanted at certain hours to sit down, to "squat upon her hunkers" and suck at a pipe, perhaps. A yarn with wretched Annie or Annawillee would have been pleasing. She even thought of Pete, though she was getting very fond of her conqueror Quin, who dominated her wonderfully. That was her nature; for if some conqueror of Quin had come along she would have gone with him, very likely, as a wapiti hind will follow a conquering wapiti. And yet who can say? I cannot; for I think she loved Quin very well indeed, though he denied her the trivial consolations of Indian bawdry with Annie or mournful Annawillee. Somehow I think Jenny was very good. One can't say. She grew prettier and gentler every day, every hour. Sam admired her frankly and was very polite. It was his nature. He told Quin quite openly what he thought, and sometimes gave him good advice. "My tinkee Missus heap pletty, Mista Quin," said Sam, "evely day mo' pletty, maskee my tinkee she velly sad, hab noting to do. Missus wantche flin, Mista Quin, t'at what she wantchee. No can lead, no can lite, my tinkee, no can makee dless allo tim'. T'at velly sad. No likee cookee chow-chow, she say." He shook his head. She wanted a friend ("wantchee flin"), that was a fact, and all Quin could do was to order her more dresses and linen from Victoria. He got her picture-books (for, as Sam said, "she no can lead") and talked to her about what she saw there. When he was with her she was happy. "I velly happy at night-time, Tchorch," she said meekly. "But daytime velly keely, very sad." "Tchorch" Quin picked her up in his arms and set her on his knee. "Litty gal, I love you, tenas," he answered, mixing the lingoes. Perhaps he did love her. Quien sabe?--as Chihuahua said about everything uncertain. "You love me, Tchorch?" she asked flushing, "velly much?" "Tenas, hyu, hyu, very much indeed, little one." "I not mind if the day is sad, then," said Jenny. She regarded him with big sad eyes, and then looked down.