lonely, and I have been gone from my Iowla but two weeks to-morrow."

"You have been with her at Fort Churchill?" asked Philip, taking off his
pack and coat.

"Oui, M'sieur," said Jacques, falling into his French. "I have been
there since November. What! They did not tell you at Lac Bain?"

"No--they did not tell me. But I was there but a few hours, Jacques.
Listen--" He pulled out his pipe and began filling it, with his back to
the stove. "You saw people--strangers--at Fort Churchill, Jacques? They
came over on the London ship, and among them there was a woman--"

Pierrot's pale face flashed up with sudden animation.

"Ah--zee angel!" he cried. "That is what my Iowla called her, M'sieur.
See!" He pointed to his bandaged hand. "Wan day that bete--the Indian
dog of mine--did that, an' w'en I jumped up from the snow in front of
the company's store, the blood running from me, I see her standing
there, white an' scared. An' then she run to me with a little scream,
an' tear something from her neck, an' tie it round my hand. Then she go
with me to my cabin, and every day after that she come to see my Iowla
an' the children. She wash little Pierre, an' cut his hair. She wash
Jean an' Mabelle. She laugh an' sing an' hol' the baby, an' my Iowla
laugh an' sing; an' she takes down my Iowla's hair, which is so long
that it falls to her knees, an' does it up in a wonderful way an' says
she would give everything she got if she could have that hair. An' my
Iowla laugh at her, because her hair is like an angel's--like fire w'en
the sun is on it; an' my Iowla tak' hers down, all red an' gold, an' do
it up in the Cree way. And w'en she brings the man with her--he laughs