The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 19, 1902, Page 3

THE SUNDAY CALL Al o7 rung pesiae ‘nim, and his moth- somewhere about the house— back and went over him and im, making his heart sink while another voice, the sweet- eard—but she was ineffable and y a forbidden fragrance. r Beret tottered acrgss the for- room and knelt before the cru- ng his clasped hands high, the sed between them. lips aver, but made no sound; his shook violently. be unpardonable deésecration he chamber of Father Beret's k upon his sacred and secret nor must we even speculate as rticulars. The good old man d wrestled before the cross for e, untjjeat last he seemed to the calmfiess and strength he for so fervently: then he rose, e letter into pieces so small that word remained whole and squeezed rmly together that they were ressed into a t , solid ball, which let fall through a crack between the r puncheons. After waiting twenty ars for that letter, hungry as his heart he did not even open it when at arrived. He would never know message it bore. The link between and the old sweet days was broken forever. Now with God’s help he could @do his werk to the end. Meantime Rene de Ronville had deliv- ered Madame Roussillon’s letter with due promptness. Of course, such a service demanded pie and claret. What still bet- ter pleased him, Alice chose to be more emiable than was usuaily her custom when he called. They sat together in the main room of the house where M. Roussllion kept his books, his curiosities of Indian manufacture collected here and there, and his surplus firearms, swords, istols and knives, ranged not unpleasing- around the wal Of course, al with the letter, Rene the news, so interesting to himself, he boat's tempting cargo just = dis- ged 2t the river house. Alice under- tood bher friend’s danger—felt it in the intense enthusiasm of his voice and man- ner. Bhe had once seen the men carous- ing on & similar occasion when she was but & child, and the impression then made still remained in her memory. Instinc- tively she resolved to hold Rene by one means or another away from the river bouse if possible. Bo she managed to keep him occupled eating ple, sipping watered claret and chatting untfl nfght came on, and Madame Roussilion brought in & lamp. Then he hurriedly snatched is cap from the floor beside him and got up to go. “Come and look at my handiwork,” Alice quickly said; “my shelf of ples, I mean.” She led him to the pantry, where & dozen or more of the cherry pates were ranged in order. “I made every one of them this morning end baked them; had them all out of the oven before the rain came up. Don’t you think me a wonder of cleverness and industry? Father Be- ret was polite enough to flatter me; but you—you just eat what you want and say nothing! You are not polite, Mon- Rene de Ronville.” ve been showing you what I thought our goodies,” ®ald Rene; “eating’s better than talking, you know: so TI'll just take one more,” and he helped hims. . that compliment enough / uch would mlake me another she replied, laughing. 1k would be cheaper and more y in the long run. Even the » these pates I ground with my nd in an Indian mortar. That was ork, too."” s time Rene had forgotten the river house and the liquor. With soften- ing he gazed at Alice's rounded and sheeny hair over which the curious earthen lamp she nd flickered most effective- loved her madly; but his fear of more powerful than his jove. no opportunity to speak . having ever ready a quick, t change of mood and manner when she saw him plucking up courage to ad- dress her in a sentimental way. Their relations had long been somewhat famil- far, which was but natural, considering their youth and the circumstances of their dafly life; but Alice somehow had kept = certain distance open between them, so that very warm friendship could not suddenly resolve itself into a trouble- some nassion on Rene’s part. We peed not attempt to analyze a voung girl's feeling and motives in such & case: what what she thinks are mysteriés even to her own understanding. The Influence most po- tent in shaping the rudimentary charac- ter of Alice Tarleton (called Roussilion) had been only such as a lonely frontier post could generate. Her assoclations with men and women had, with few ex- ceptions, been unprofitable in an educa- tional way, while her reading in M. Rous- silion's little library could not have given her any practical kno of manners and life. She was fond of Rene de Ronville, and #t would have been quite in accordance with the law of ord! indeed almost the inevitable thing, for her to love and marry him in tha full- ness of time; but her imagination was outgrowing her surroundings. Books had given her a world of romance wherein she moved at will, meeting a class of people far different from those who act- ually shared her experiences. Her d: dreams and her night-dreams partook much more of what she had read and Imagined than of what she had seen and heard in the raw -little world afound her. Her affection for Rene was interfered with by her large admiration for tl Jeroic, mastérful and magnetic ‘knights Eho charged through the romances of the oussilion collection. For although Rens ‘was unquestionably brave and more than passably handsome, he had no armor, no ‘war-horse, no shining lance and embossed shield—the difference, indeed, was great. Those who love to contend against the fatal drift of our age toward overeduca- tion could find in Alice Tarleton, foster daughter of Gaspard Roussillon, & primi- tive example, an elementary case in point. What could her book education do but set up stumbling blocks in the path of happiness? She was learning to prefer the ideal to the real. Her soul was de- veloping itself as best it could for the enjoyment of conditions and things abso- lutely foreign to the possibilities of her ot in 1life. Perhaps it was the light and heat of imagination, shining out through Alice’s face, which gave her beauty such a fas- cinating power. Rene saw it and felt its electrical * stroke send & eet shiver through his heart while he ‘before he are very beautiful to-night, Alice,” he presently said, with a sudden- ness which took even her alertness by surprise. A flush rose to his dark face and immediately gave way to a grayish pallor, His heart came near stopping on the instaut, he was so shocked by his own daring; but he laid a hand on her hair, stroking it softly. Just a moment she was at a loss, look: ing a trifle embarrassed; then with merry Jaugh she stepped aside and sald: ““That sounds better, Monsieur Rene de Ronville, much better; you will be as polite as Father Beret after a little more training.” She slipped past him while speaking and made her way -back again to the main room, whence she called to him: “Come here; I've something to show you.” He obeyed, a sheepish trace on his coun- tenance betraying his self-consclousness. When he came near Alice she was tak- ing from its buckhorn hook on the wall & rapier, one of a beautiful pair hanging side by side. “Papa Roussillon gave me these,” she said with great anlmation. “He bought them of an Indian who had kept them a long time. Where he came across them he would not tell; but look how beauti- ful! Did you ever see anything so filne?” Guard and hilt were of silver; the blad although somewhat corraded, still showe: the fine wavy lines of Damascus steel and traces of delicate engraving, while in the end of the hilt was set a large oval tur- quoise. A very queer present to give a girl,” said Rene; ‘“‘what can you do with them?* A captivating flash of playfulness came into her face and she sprang backward, giving the sword a semiecircle turn with her wrist. The blade sent forth a keen hiss as it cut the air close, very close to Rene's nose. He jerked his head and flung up his hand. She laughed merrily, standing beauti- fully poised before him, the rapier’s point slightly elevated. Her short skirt left her feet and ankles free to show thelr graceful proportions and the perfect pose in which they held her supple body. “You see what I can do_with the cole- chemarde, eh, Monsieur Rene de Ron- ville!” she exclaimed, giving him a smile which fairly blinded him. ‘‘Notice how very near to your neck I ean thrust and yet not touch it. Now!" She darted the Xkeen point under his chin and drew it away so quickly that the stroke was like a glint of sunlight. “What do you think of that as a nice and accurate plece of skill?” She again resumed her pose, the right foot advanced, the left arm well back, her lissome, finely developed body lean- ing slightly forward. Rene’s hands were up before his face in a defensive position, palms outward, Just then a chorus of men’s voices sounded in the distance. The river house was beginning its carousal with a song. Alice let fall her sword's point and lis- tened. Rene looked about for his cap. “I must be going,” he said. Another and louder swish of the rapier made him pirouette and dodge again with great energy. “Don’t!” he cried: “that’s dangerous; you’ll put out my eyes. I never saw such a girl” She laughed at him and kept on whip- ping the air dangerously near his eyes, until she had driven him backward as far as he could squeeze himself into‘a corner of the room. Madame Roussillon came to the door from the kitchen and stood looking in and laughing, with her hands on her hips. By this time the rapler was making a criss-cross pattern of flashing lines close to the young man’s head, while Alice, in the enjoyment of her exercise, seemed to concentrate all the glowing rays of her beauty in her face, her eyes dancing mer- rily. “Quit, now, Alice”” he begged, half in fun' and balf in abject fear; “please quit —1 surrender!” She“thrust to the wall on either side of him, then springing lightly backward a pace, stood at guard. Her thick yellow hair had fallen over her neck and shoul- ders in a loose wavy mass, out of which her face beamed with a bewitching effect upon her captive, Rene, glad ennusb to have a cessation of his peril, stood laughing dryly; but the singing down at the river house was éwelling louder, and he made another movement to go. ou human forces, ““Iou surrenaered, you remember,” cried Alice, renewing the sword play; “sft do on the chair thers and make yoursel! comfortable. You are not folnl down onder to-night; you are ing to_stay ere and talk with me and Mother Rous- silion. We are lonesome and you are good company.” A shot rang out keen and clear; there was a sudden tumult that broke up the distant singing, and presently more fir- ing at varying intervals cut the night alr from the direction of the river. Jean, the hunchback, came In td say that there was a row of some sort; he had seen men running across the com- mon as if in pursuit of a fugitive, but the moonlight was so dim that he could not be sure what it all meant. Rene picked up his cap and bolted out of the house. CHAPTER IIL THE RAPE OF THE.DEMLJOHN. The row down at the river house was more noise than fight, 5o far as results seemed to indicate. It was all about a small dame jeanne of fine brandy, which an Indian by the name of Long-Hair had seized and run off 'with at the height of the carousal. He must have been soberer than his pursuers, or naturally fleeter; for not one of them could catch him, or even keep long in sight of him. Some pistols were emptied while the race was on, and two or three of the men swore roundly to having seen Long-Hair jump sidewise and stagger, as if one of the shots had taken effect. But, the moon was shining, he some dis- appeared, they could not understand just how, far down beside the river below the fort and the church, It was not a very uncommon thing for an Indian to steal what he wanted, and in most cases light punishment followed conviction; but it was felt to be a capl- tal offense for an Indian or anybody else to rape a’' demijohn of fine brandy, es- pecially one sent as a present by a friend in New Orleans to Lieutenant Governor Abhott, who had until recently been the cominandant of the post. Every man at the river house recognized and resented the enormity of Long-Hair's crime and each was, for the moment, ready to be his judge and his executioner. He had’ broken at once every rule of frontier eti- _the confidence of rou; quette and every bond of sympathy, Nor was Long-Hair ignorant of the danger involved in his daring enterprise. He beforehand carefully and stolidly weighed all the conditions and, true to his In- dian nature, had concluded that a little ‘wicker-covered bottle of brandy was well worth the risk of his life. So he had put himself in condition for a great race by slipping out and getting rid of his weap- ons and all surplus weight of clothes. This incident brought the drinking bout at the river house to a sudden end; but nothing further came of it that night, and no record of it would be found in these pages but for the fact that Long- Hair afterward became an important character in the stirring historical drama which had old Vincennes for its center of energy. Rene de Ronville ‘probahly felt himeelf in bad luck when he‘arrived at the river house just too late to share In the liqudr or to join In chasing tHe bold thief. He listened with Interest, however, to the story of Long-Hair’s capture of the com- mandant’s demijohn and could not refrain from saying that if he had been present theret would have been a quite different result. “Listen how the boy brags. Ye might think, to hear Rene talk, that he actually amounted to a big pile.” This personage was known to every soul in Vincennes as Oncle Jazon, and when Oncle Jazon spoke the whole town felt bound to listen. 3 Oncle Jazon had the alr of a large man, but the stature of a small one; in fact, he was shriveled bodily to a degree which sugges: comparison with a sun-dried wisp of hickory bark, and when he chuc- kled, as he was now doing, his mouth puckered itself until it looked like -a scar on- his face. From cap to moccasins he had every mark significant of a des- ganvuchnmcter: and yet there was about - im Something that instantly commanded men—the look of self-sufMiciency and superior capabllity al- ‘ways to be found in conn:’flcn with fm- mense will power. His ty years of exposyre, hardship and danger seemed to have but toughened physique and strengthened his vitality. Out of his small hazel eyes gleamed-a light as keen 1 as ice s “All right, Onclé Juzon,” sald Rene laughing ~and bla‘zmls the smoke out of his pistol; **‘twas you all the “When you've killed as many of ‘em as Oncle Jazon has,” réemarked ' a by- stander to Rene, ‘“vou’ll not be so hun- gry_for blood, maybe.” “Especially after ye've took fifty-nine scalps to pay for yer one,” added Onele Jazon, replacing his cap over the hairless area of his crown. .The men who had been chasing Long- Halir presently came straggling back with their stories—each had a distinct one— of how the fugitive escaped. They were wild lookipg fellows, most of them some- what Int®xicated, all profusely liberal with thelr stock of picturesque profanity. They represented the roughest element of the well nigh lawless post. nfiflllr was e had been The ' next morning tracked to the river's ed| wounded, but whether serior could onfy ur e be conjestured. A .:; blood, here and there 3““. a m it, reddened the grass an he had run through and ended close to the water, Into which it looked as if he had plunged with & view to baffiing pur- suit. Indeed, pursuit was baffl further trace could be f to follow the cunning the men" consoled the; Long-Halr probably lying drowned at the bottom of the river. ‘“Pas du tout,” observed Oncle Jazon, his short pipe askew far over in the cor- ner of his mouth, “not & bit of it is that Indian drowned. He's jes’ as live as a fat cat this minute and as drunk as the devil, He'll get some o' yer scalps yet after he's guzzled all that brandy and slep’ a week."” It finally transpired that Oncle Jazon was partly right and partly wrong. Long-Hair was alive, even as a fat cat, perhaps: but not drunk, for in trying to swim with the rotund little dame jeanne under his arm he lost hold of it and it went to the/bottom of the Wabash, where it may be ngnt this moment patiently waliting for e one to fish it out of its bed deep in .gand and mud and break the\ancient wax'from its neck! ne “de. Ronville, after the chase .of Long-Hair had been given over, went ta tell Father Beret what had happened, and finding the priest's hut empty turned into the path leading to the Roussilion place, which was at the head of a narrow street laid out in a direction -at right angles to the river's course.. He passed two or three diminutive cabins, all as - much alike as beehives. T “Bon jour, Ma’'m'selle Adrienne, he cheerily called,” waving his free hand in greeting to a small, dark lass standing on the step of a veranda and indolently. swinging a broom. “Comment allez-vous aujourd’hui?” “J'm'porte tres blen, merdl, Mo'sieu Rene,”’ was the quick response; ‘‘et vous?" | “ON, T'm lively as a cricket.” “Going a hunting?”" “No; Just up bere a little ‘way—just on business—up to Mo'sieu Roussilion’s for a momen! “‘Yes,” the girl responded in a tone in- dicative of something very like spleen; » clumps of weeds: “yes,- undoubtedly, Mo'sisu de Ronville; your Dusiness there seems qui ng of late. 1 have noticed your industrious application to that business. ‘‘Ta-ta, little one,’” he. wheeled, lower- ing his voice; “you mustn’t go to making bugbears out of nothing.” ‘“‘Bugbears!” she retorted; ‘you go on about your business and I'll attend’to mine,” and she filrted into_the house. Rene Jaughed under his breath, stand- ing a moment as if expecting her to come out “again: but she did not, and he re- sumed his walk singing softly— “Elle a les joues vermeilles, vermellles, Ma belle, ma belle petite.” But ten to one he was not thinking of Madamoiselle Adrienne . Boucler. His mind, however, must have been absorb- ingly occupled; for in_ the straight, open ‘way he met Father Berét and ‘did not see. him until he came near bumping against. the old man, who stepped aside with astonishing agility and said: “Dieu vous benisse, mons fils; but what is your: great hurmy-—-where can you be going in such happy' haste?” Rene did not stop ®o. parley ‘with the priest. He flung some phrase of pleas- ant greeting back over his shoulder as he trudged on, his heart beginning a tat- too against his ribs' when the Roussillon Elacu came in-sight, and he took hold of is mustache to: pull 'it, as some men must do in moments of nervousness and bashfulness. - If sounds ever “haye color, the humming in his ears was of a rosy hue; if thoughts ever exhale fragrance, his brain overflowed with the sweets of violet and heHotrope. He bad in mind what he was going to say when Alice and he should be alone together. Tt was a pretty speech, he thought; Indeed,.a very thrilling little Speech, by the way it stirred his own nerve centers as he“conned it over. Madame Roussilion met-him at the door in not a very good humor. *Is Mademoiselle Alice here?’ he ven- tured ‘to demand. “Alice? ' No; she's not here. She’s never here just when I want her most. V'la le picbois et la grive—see the woodpecker and the robin—eating the cherries, eat- Ing every one of them, and that girl run- ning off somewhere instead- of staying bere and picking them,” she railed in answer to the young man's polite in- quiry. “I haven't seen her these four hours, neither her nor that rascally hunchback. Jean. Thev're up to some. mischief, T'll. be bound!"” . Madame Roussillon_ puffed ludibly&& tween phrases; but she suddenly becdme very mild when relleved of her tirade. “‘Mais entrez,” she added in a pleasant tone, ‘‘come in and tell me the news,” Rene’s disappointment rushed into his face, but he managed to laugh it aside. “Father. Beret has just - been telling me,” gaid- Madame Roussillon, “that our friend Long-Hair made some trouble last night. . How about 1t?" Rene told her what he khew and added that Long-Hair would probably never be seen again. ‘‘He was shot, no_doubt of it,” he went on, ‘“and is now being nibbled by fish and turtles. We tracked him by his blood immediate wmlnfn‘u to aid her. It was a difficult thing to do; but there was & will and, of course, a way. They had ‘knives with which they cut willows to _make a standing place on the mud. While they were doing_ this they spoke friendly words to Long-Hair, who under- stood - French.a little, and at last they got hold of his arms, tugged, rested, tug- ged again and finally managed to help him' to.a dry place, still under the wil- lows, where he could lle more at ease. Jean carried water in his cap with which théy washed the wound and the stolid savage face. Then Alice tore up her cot- ton ‘aprom, in which she had hoped to bear home-a load of lilies, and with the strips bound the wound very neatly. It took ‘a long time, during which the In- dian remained silent and apparently quite indifferent. - - Long-Hair was a man of superior phy- sique—tall, 'stralght, with the muscles of & vulcan: and, while he lay stretched on the ground; half clad and motionless, he would have béen a grand model for a heroic figure in bronze. Yet from every \lineameént " there came a strange repell- MIng ipfluence,'like that from a snake. Alice felt' almost unbearable = disgust while doing ;her merciful task; but she bravely persevered until it was finished. It- was now late in.the aftermoon and the sun: would be setting ore they could reach home. “We must hurry bacl " Allce 8aid, turning to depart. Tt will be all we can‘do to reach the other side in day- light. I'm thinking that they'll be out hunting for:us, too, if we don’'t move Come." r’ght lively. ihe gave . the Indian another glance ‘when she had taken but a step. He grunted and -held up somethlni in his hand—something that shone with a dull yellow light. Tt was a small, oval, gold locket which she had always worn .in her bosom. She sprang and snatched it from his palm. “Thank you,” she exclaimed, smiling gratefully. “I am so glad you found it.” The chain by which the locket had hung 'was broken, doubtiess by some movement while dragging Long-Hair out of the mud, and the lid had sprung open, exposing a minlature portrait of Alic painted when she was a little child, prob- ably not two years old. It was a sweet baby faee, archly bright, almost sur- rounded ‘with a fluff of golden hair. The neck and the upper line of the plump shoulders, with a trace of richly delicate lace and a string of pearls, gave some- how a suggestion of patrician daintiness. Long-Hair looked keenly into Alice's eyes when she stooped to take the locket from his hand, but said nothing. She and Jean now hurried away, and 80 vigorously did they paddle the. pirogue that the skv was_yet red in the west when they reached home and duly re- IEN CAN DIE FIGHIING, BUY THEIR POOR WIVES AND TGCHTER.S -0, 7 HAVE SEEN, lflm‘flgt ,s'" gt g ‘where he jum; inte the Wabash. @ never came out.”” * Strangely enough it i od tha at the very time o:”.&ll cha between Madame Roussilion and Rene, Alice was bandaging Long-Hair's wound- ed leg with strips of her apron. It was under some willows which overhung the bank of a narrow and shallow lagoon, or slough, which in those days extended a mile or two back into the country on the farther side of the river. Alice and Jean went over in a pirogue to see if the water lilies, haunting a pond there, were yet begihning to bloom.. They landed at a ‘convenient spot some distante up the Httle lagoon, made the boat fast by drag- ging its prow high ashore, and were on the point of setting ont across .a neck of wet, grassy land to the pond, when a deep ‘grunt, not unlike that of a self- satisfied pig, attracted them to the wil- lows, where they discovered Long-Hair, bad‘;y wounded, weltering in some black mud. & His hiding place was cunningly chosen, save that {he mire troubled him, letting him down by slow degrees and threaten- ing ‘to engulf him bodily; and he was now to weak to extricate himself. He lifted his head and glared. His face was grimy, his hair matted with mud. Alice, although brave enough and quite accus- tomed to startling experiences, uttered a cry when she saw those snaky eyes glis- tening so savagely amid the shadows. But Jean was quick to recognize Lomg- Hair; he had often seen him about town, a figure not to be forgotten. “They've been hunting him every- where,” he sald in a half. whisper to Alice, clutching the skirt: of her dress, *It's Long-Halr, the Indian who stole the brandy; I know him.” Alice recoiled a pace or two. ‘‘Let’s go back and tell 'em,” Jean add- ed, still whispering: “they want to kill him. Oncle Jazon sald so. Come on!" He gave her dress a jerk; but she did not move any farther back. .Bhe was looking at the blood oozing from a.wound in the Indlan’s les. “He is shot, he is hurt; Jean, we must help him,” she presently said, her: self-control, xet still pale. get him out of that bad place.” “Jean caught Alice’s.sympathetic spirit with sympathetic readiness and showed celved thelr expected scolding from Ma- & Roussillon. Alice sealed Jean’s lips as to thelr ad- venture; for she had made up her mind to save ‘Long-Halr if possible, and she felt sure ithat the only way to do it wz:uld be to trust no one but Father Be- ret. It turned out that Long-Hair's wound Wwas' neither a broken bone mor a cut ertery. The flesh of his leg, midway between the hip and ‘the knes, was plerced; the bullet had bored a neat hole clean through. Father Beret took the case In hand, and with no little surgical skill proceeded to set the big Indian upon his feet again. The affair had to be clev- erly managed. Food, medicines and clothing were surreptitiously borne across the river; a bed of grass was kept fresh under Long-Hair's back; his wound was regularly dressed, and finally his weap- ons—a tomahawk, a knife, a strong bow and a quivér of arrows—which he had hidden on the .night of the bold theft, were brought to him. “Now go and sin no more,” said good Father Beret; but he well knew that his words were mere puffs of articulate wind in lh? ear of the grim and silent savage, Wwho limped away with an air of stately dignity into the wilderness. A load fell from Alice’s mind when Father Beret informed her of Long- Hair’s recovery and departure. Day and night the dread lest some of the men should find out his hiding place and kil - him had depressed and worried her. And now, when it was all over, there Still hovered like an elusive shadow in her consclousness a vague haunting impres- sion of the incident's immense signifi- cance as an influence in her life. To feel that she had saved a man from death Was 8 new sensation of {itself, but the man and the circumstances were pictu- resque; they invited Imagination: they furnished an atmosphere of romance dear to all young and healthy natures, and somehow stirred her soul with a strange appeal. CHAPTER 1V. THE FIRST MAYOR OF VINCENNES &;ob-bly never so mllchhl: B&dtyd o‘l oo mdl.mbe nne tl)f Freuch brandy se: m by creole thuu. e been gone from Vincennes several months when the batteau arrived, having been recalled o Detroit by the British authorities, and ke never returned. Meantime the little post with its quaint cabins and its dilapi- dated blockhouse, called Fort Sackville, lay sunning drowsily by the river in a blissful state of heiplessness from the militarg point of view. There was no garrison; the two or three pieces of ar- tillery, abandoned and exposed, gathered rust and cobwebs, while the ,pickets of the stockade, decaying and loosemed in the ground by winter freezes and summer rains, leaned in all directions, a picture of decay and inefficiency The Inhabitants of the townm, number- ing about 600, lived very much as pleased them, without any regular municipal gov~ ernment, each family its own tribe, each man a law unto himself; yet for mutual rotection, they all kept in touch and ad certain common rights which were religiously respected and defended faith- fully. A large pasturing ground was fenced in where the goats and little black cows of the villagers browsed as one kerd, while the patches of wheat, corn and vegetables were not inclosed at all. A few of the thriftier and citizens, however, had cf some magnitude, residences, kept up wi time and place be takem into account, with considerable show of taste. Monsieur Gaspa: Roussillon was Iooked upon as the aristocrat par excel- lence of Vincennes, notwithstanding the fact that his name bore no suggestion o nobled or titled ancestry. He was rich and in a measure educated; moreover the successful man's patent of leadership, & commanding figure and a suave manner, came ,always to his assistance when a crisis presented itself. He traded shrewd- ly, much to his own profit, but Invariably with the excellent result that the man, white or Indian, with whom he did busi~ ness felt especially favored in the trans- action. By the exercise of firmness, prudence, vast lssumrucn. florid elo- quence and a kindly liberality he had greatly endeared himself to the people; so that in the absence of a military com- mander he came naturally to be re- garded as the chief of the town, Mo'sieuw’ le_maire. He returned from his extended trading expedition about the middle of July, bringing, as was his invariable rule, & gift for Alice. This time it was a small, thin disk of white flint, with a hole In the center through which a beaded cord of sinew was looped. The edge of the disk was beautifully notched and the, whole surface polished so that it shone like glass, while the beads, made of very small segments of porcupine quills, were vari- cusly dyed, making a curiously gaudy show of bright colors. “There now, ma erie, worth fifty times its said M. Roussillon when is something welght in gold, he presented the i Al necklace to his foster daughter win par- donable seif-satisfaction. "It is & sacred charm-string given me by an old heathen who would sell his soul for & pint of cheap rum. He solemnly informed me that whoever wore it could not by any possibility be killed by an enemy.” Alice kissed M. Roussillon. “It's so curious and beautiful,” she said, holding it up and drawing the variegated string through her fingers. Then, with her mischievous laugh, she added: “And I'm so glad it Is so powerful against one’s enemy; I'll wear it whenever I go :her? Adrienne Bourcler is—see it I on’t!™ “Is she your ememy? What's up be- tween you and la petite Adrienn h?"” M. Roussillon lightly demanded. “You were always the best of good friends, I thought. What's bappened? “Oh, we are good friends,” sald Alice, quickly, “very “good friends, indeed; 1 was bu? chaffing.” “Good friends, but enemies; that's how it is with women. Who's the young man that's caused the coolness? I could guess, maybe!” He laughed and winked know- fogly. “May I be 0 bold as to name him at & venture?” “‘Yes, if you'll be sure to mention Mon- sieur Rene de Ronvill she gayly an- swered. *“Who but he could work Adrienne up into a perfect green mist of Jealousy ?"* ““He would need an accomplice, I should imagine: a young lady of some beauty and a good deal of heartlessness.” “Like whom, for example? and she tossed her bright head. “Not me, I am sure.” “Poh! like every pretty maiden in the Whole world, ma petite coquette; they'rs all alike as peas, cruel as bluejays and as-sweet as apple-blossoms.”” He stroked her hair clumily with his large hand, as & heavy and roughly fond man is apt to do, adding in an almost serious tone: “But my little girl is better than most of them—not a foolish mischief-maker, I hope.” Alice was putting her head through the string of beads and letting the transiuy cent white disk fall into her bosom. “It's time to change the subjeet,” she sald; “tell me what you have seen while away. I wish I could go far off and see things. Have you been to Detroit, Ques bec, Montreal?”