These were the holiday moments of the day, but once when the mother and the little girl and the cat sat intent upon the rug, their treasures spread before them, Odalie's face paled and her heart almost sprang into her mouth as she heard Hamish's step outside, quick and disordered. As he burst into the room she knew by his eyes that something of grave import had happened. And yet, as she faced him speechless, he said nothing. She noted his uncaring casual glance at that potent fascinator, the buffalo horn, and his hasty, unsettled gesture. He seemed resolved not to speak--then he suddenly exclaimed solemnly:-- "Odalie, there is the prettiest creature in this settlement that you ever saw in your life--and--the gracefullest!" "A fawn?" said the mercurial Odalie, who recovered her poise as suddenly as it was shaken. He looked at her in a daze for a moment. "A fawn? What absurdity!" "Nothing less than a dear, I must needs be sure." He apprehended her sarcasm. Then, too absorbed to be angry, he reverted to himself. "Oh," he cried with bitterness, "why do you let me go about in worshipful company with my hair like this?--" he clutched at his tousled locks. "Yes--yes, I see. It always goes to the head," said Odalie, demurely. "Don't laugh at me," he exclaimed, "but how had you the heart--and Sandy's hair always in such trim-wise, and you and Fifine like people of fashion." Odalie could but laugh in truth; she had known such splendors as colonial life at that day could present and she was well aware how the ill-equipped wife of a pioneer on the furthest frontier failed of that choice aspect. "I thought," she said, still laughing, "that you were ambitious of the fashion of such coiffure as Mr. Gilfillan affects--oh, poor man!--and had made up your mind to plait your hair no more."