“I saw these just as I pushed off and went back after them. What’s the matter here, that the flag is up? It was the biggest storm I ever saw. Yes; a deal of beasties are killed back on the mainland. Any dead over here?” “No, I’m glad to say, none that we know of. But Snowfoot’s shed is down and uncle is going to build a new one. I hope you’ve come to work.” Pierre laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Oh! yes.” But his interest in work was far less than in the stranger whom he now answered, and whose presence on Peace Island was a mystery to him. Heretofore, the only visitors there had been laborers or traders, but this young fellow, so near his own age, and despite his worn clothing, was of another sort. He recognized this, at once, as Margot had done, and his curiosity made him ask: “Where’d you come from? Hurricane blow you out the sky?” “About the same. I was lost in the woods and Margot found me and saved my life. What’ll you take for that moose?” “There isn’t money enough in the State of Maine to buy him!” “Nonsense! Well, if there was I haven’t it. But you could get a good price for it anywhere.” Pierre looked Adrian over. From his appearance the lad was not likely to be possessed of much cash, but the moose-trainer was eager for capital, and never missed an opportunity of seeking it. “I want to go into the show business. What do you say? would you furnish the tents and fixings, and share the profits? I’m no scholar, but maybe you’d know enough to get out the hand bills and so on. What do you say?” “I--say--What you mean, Pierre Ricord, keepin’ the master waitin’ your foolishness and him half sick? What kept you twice as long as you ought? Hurry up, now, and put that moose in the cow yard and get to work.” The interruption was caused by Angelique, and it was curious to see the fear with which she inspired the great fellow, her son. He forgot the stranger, the show business, and all his own immediate interests, and with the docility of a little child obeyed. Unhitching his odd steed, he turned the canoe bottom upwards on the beach and hastily led the animal toward that part of the island clearing where Snowfoot stood in a little fenced-in lot behind her ruined shed. Adrian went with him, and asked: “Won’t those two animals fight?” “Won’t get a chance. When one goes in the other goes out. Here, bossy, you can take the range of the island. Get out!” She was more willing to go than Madoc to enter the cramped place, but the transfer was made, and Adrian lingered by the osier paling, to observe at close range this subjugated monarch of the forest. “Oh! for a palette and brush!” he exclaimed, while Pierre walked away. “What would you do with them?” Margot had followed the lads and was beside Adrian, though he had not heard her footsteps. Now he wheeled about, eager, enthusiastic. “Paint--as I have never painted before!” “Oh!--are you an--artist?” “I want to be one. That’s why I’m here.” “What! What do you mean?”