"Ah-ha-ha. Wan moon, two moon, mebbe. Injun come bimeby."

Jean turned to her father, who had been standing silently near the door.

"May we keep it, daddy?"

"Ask Mammy," the Colonel replied. "If she is willing, I have no
objections. She is the only one in this house who knows how to look
after a baby."

"I'se willin', Cun'l," the old woman agreed. "It makes me t'ink of de
lil'l chile I los' long time ago in ol' Connec. Yes, I'se willin'."

The Indian understood, and smiled. He turned to go, but paused and
looked at Jean.

"White woman keep canoe, eh?" he queried.

"Oh, may I?" the girl eagerly asked. She had often longed for a canoe
to paddle along the shore and explore the various creeks.

"Ah-ha-ha. White woman paddle all sam' Injun bimeby. Me go now."

The Colonel pressed the Indian to stay until the storm was over, but
the native shook his head, and with another glance at the sleeping
child, he passed out into the night.

For about an hour the storm continued to rage. But the gleaming
lightning and the crashing thunder worried Old Mammy no longer. She