"How old is she?" inquired Peter.

"Twenty years, Michel say," answered Poly. "Ah! she is beautiful!" he
went on. "She walk the groun' as sof' and proud and pretty as fine
yong horse! She sit her horse like a flower on its stem. Me and her
good frens too. She say she lak me for cause I am simple. Often in
the winter she ride out wit' my team and hunt in the bush while I am
load up."

"What did Eelip say to that?" Peter inquired facetiously. Eelip was
Poly's wife.

"Eelip?" queried Poly, surprised. "Colina is the trader's daughter,"
he carefully explained. "She live in the big house. I would cut off
my hand to serve her."

"I suppose Miss Colina has plenty of suitors?" said Peter.

Ambrose hung with suspended breath on the reply.

Poly shook his curly pate. "Who is there for her?" he demanded.
"Macfarlane the policeman is too fat; the doctor is too old, his hair
is white; the parson is a little, scary man. All are afraid of her;
her proud eye mak' a man feel weak inside. There are no ot'er white
men there. She is a woman. She mus' have a master. There is no man
in the country strong enough for that!"

There was a brief silence in the cabin while Poly relighted his cigar.
Ambrose had given no sign of being affected by Poly's tale beyond a
slight quivering of the nostrils. But Peter watching him slyly, saw