coulee, Sarnier and his Indians _chock-chock-chocked_ away at the
seams of the long coast-trading bateau. The girl saw nothing, heard
nothing. She was dreaming, she was trying to remember.

In the lines of her slight figure, in its pose there by the old gun
over the old, old river, was the grace of gentle blood, the pride of
caste. Of all this region her father was the absolute lord, feared,
loved, obeyed by all its human creatures. When he went abroad, he
travelled in a state almost mediæval in its magnificence; when he
stopped at home, men came to him from the Albany, the Kenógami, the
Missináibe, the Mattágami, the Abítibi--from all the rivers of the
North--to receive his commands. Way was made for him, his lightest
word was attended. In his house dwelt ceremony, and of his house she
was the princess. Unconsciously she had taken the gracious habit of
command. She had come to value her smile, her word, to value herself.
The lady of a realm greater than the countries of Europe, she moved
serene, pure, lofty amid dependants.

And as the lady of this realm she did honor to her father's
guests--sitting stately behind the beautiful silver service, below the
portrait of the Company's greatest explorer, Sir George Simpson,
dispensing crude fare in gracious manner, listening silently to the
conversation, finally withdrawing at the last with a sweeping courtesy
to play soft, melancholy, and world-forgotten airs on the old piano,
brought over years before by the _Lady Head_, while the guests made
merry with the mellow port and ripe Manila cigars which the Company
supplied its servants. Then coffee, still with her natural Old World
charm of the _grande dame_. Such guests were not many, nor came often.
There was McTavish of Rupert's House, a three days' journey to the
northeast; Rand of Fort Albany, a week's travel to the northwest;