"Me," laughed Josephine. "Is it not necessary that you make room
in your canoe for me?"

Philip's face flushed with pleasure.

"Of course it is," he cried. "Everything has seemed so wonderfully
unreal to me that for a moment I forgot that you were my--my wife.
But how about Jean? He called me M'sieur Weyman."

"He is the one other person in the world who knows what you and I
know," she explained. "That, too, was necessary. Will you go and
arrange your canoe now? Jean will bring down my things and
exchange them for some of your dunnage." She left him to run into
the tent, reappearing quickly with a thick rabbit-skin blanket and
two canoe pillows.

"These make my nest--when I'm not working," she said, thrusting
them into Philip's arms. "I have a paddle, too. Jean says that I
am as good as an Indian woman with it."

"Better, M'sieur," exclaimed Jean, who had come out of the tent.
"It makes you work harder to see her. She is--what you call it--
gwan-auch-ewin--so splendid! Out of the Cree you cannot speak it."

A tender glow filled Josephine's eyes as Jean began pulling up the
pegs of the tent.

"A little later I will tell you about Jean," she whispered. "But
now, go to your canoe. We will follow you in a few minutes."