with a look that sent shuddering from him the timid,--thus he had been
in his hard-fought and hard-won supremacy, a great, mysterious beast
brought full-grown from the snowbound wilderness of the forest one
famine-time by old Aquamis and sold to Bois DesCaut for a tie of
tobacco.

Now he stood, a pitiable shadow, and begged mutely of the only tender
hand he had known for understanding of this strange weakness that took
his limbs and sent the heavens whirling.

McElroy looked long upon him.

"'Tis a shame," he said, his straight brows drawing together, "the dog
is a better brute than Bois."

"Aye," flashed Francette, talking as though it were no uncommon thing
for the factor to stop at the cabin of the Molines, "and no more shall
the one brute serve the other. You have said, M'sieu."

"Yes," laughed the factor, "I have said and it shall be so. I will buy
the dog from Bois if he speaks of the matter. Take good care of him,
little one," and McElroy turned down toward the gate. As he moved away,
free of step and straight as an Indian, he filliped away a small
budding twig of the saskatoon which one of the youths had brought in to
show how the woods were answering the call of the warm sun, and which
he had dandled in his fingers as he walked. It fell at the edge of the
beaded skirt and quick as thought the hand of Francette shot out and
covered it. A hot flush mounted under the silken black curls and she
dropped her eyes, peering under their lashes to see if any observed.
She drew the faded sprig toward her and hid it in her breast.