the weather.

Further on I tried again. "That is Kent's, yonder. He brought his
wife from home last year. What a hedge of sunflowers she has
planted! If you love flowers, you will find those of paradise in
these woods."

No answer.

Below Martin-Brandon we met a canoe full of Paspaheghs, bound
upon a friendly visit to some one of the down-river tribes; for in
the bottom of the boat reposed a fat buck, and at the feet of the
young men lay trenchers of maize cakes and of late mulberries. I
hailed them, and when we were alongside held up the brooch from
my hat, then pointed to the purple fruit. The exchange was soon
made; they sped away, and I placed the mulberries upon the thwart
beside her.

"I am not hungry," she said coldly. "Take them away."

I bit my lip, and returned to my place at the tiller. This rose was set
with thorns, and already I felt their sting. Presently she leaned back
in the nest I had made for her. "I wish to sleep," she said haughtily,
and, turning her face from me, pillowed her head upon her arms.

I sat, bent forward, the tiller in my hand, and stared at my wife in
some consternation. This was not the tame pigeon, the rosy,
humble, domestic creature who was to make me a home and rear
me children. A sea bird with broad white wings swooped down
upon the water, now dark and ridged, rested there a moment, then