"How do you suppose Birdie can wear a blanket in July?" asked Ronald. "I should think he'd be roasted to a turn." "It's his best blanket," explained Beatrice, selecting another brush, "and he wants it in his picture." "I'd rather my clothes would be painted separately on a day like this," murmured Ronald. "I didn't know you had more than one suit," remarked the artist, with a flourish of her brush; "you can't properly say 'clothes.'" "Well, 'clo', then," retorted the Ensign, "if it suits you better; but some day you'll see me in a brand-new uniform." "It's what I'm living for," answered Beatrice. "Somebody get me some more water." A dozen hands were outstretched, but it was Forsyth who secured the cup, and he was rewarded with a radiant smile when he returned. "Ain't that smart, now!" exclaimed the trader, delightedly, as the unmistakable features of Black Partridge appeared upon the paper. Chandonnais was grinning broadly, and even Ronald and the Lieutenant condescended to praise. "To think that we've had a real artist here for months and never knew it!" exclaimed Mrs. Franklin. "Why didn't you let us know about it before?" "Because," answered the girl, "as an old lady at Fort Mackinac would have said, I didn't 'feel to paint.'" Mrs. Mackenzie was restraining the children with difficulty, for each and every one of them yearned to take a brush and assist in the delicate task. At last she took the baby and went into the house, leaving Maria Indiana to Katherine, and the two older children to their father and Forsyth. "There," said Beatrice, with a critical squint at her work; "it's almost done." Against a background of delicate green, the Indian, in his scarlet blanket, stood boldly and properly pictured. The colouring was very good and she had caught the spirit of the pose. "Let me show it to him," suggested Robert. She was wiping her brushes and did not see the expression of dismay on the chief's face when he beheld his counterfeit presentment, but she saw him snatch the picture out of Robert's hand and heard his indistinct mutterings when he fled like a deer. "Well, what do you think of that!" she gasped. "What was he saying, Uncle John?" "I didn't catch it, Bee--did you, Rob?" Forsyth had made a little progress in the language, but had understood only a word or two. "It was something about the 'Great Spirit,' I think, but I didn't get the connection." "That's gone, anyhow," said the Doctor. "You meant it for him, didn't you?" "Why, yes, eventually; but it wasn't done." "It was done enough for him, evidently," observed Ronald; "he seems to prefer his pictures a little rare. Are you ready to make mine now?" "Indeed, I'm not going to paint you. I'm going in to help Aunt Eleanor." Mrs. Howard followed her. The Doctor offered to row Mrs. Franklin across the river, Chan disappeared, and the Lieutenant went over to the Agency House with Mackenzie. Ronald looked at Forsyth and laughed.