Jan was the happiest youth in the world. It was certain that the
little Melisse understood what they were doing, and the word passed
from Cummins and Jan to the others at the post, so that it happened
frequently during the building operations that Mukee and Per-ee, and
even Williams himself, would squat for an hour at a time in the snow
near Melisse, marveling at the early knowledge which the great God saw
fit to put into a white baby's brain. This miracle came to be a matter
of deep discussion, in which there were the few words but much thought
of men born to silence. One day Mukee brought two little Indian babies
and set them on the bearskin, where they continued to sit in stoic
indifference--a clear proof of the superior development of Melisse.

"I wouldn't be surprised to hear her begin talking at any time,"
confided Cummins to Jan, one evening when the boy was tuning his
violin. "She is nearly six months old."

"Do you suppose she would begin in French?" asked Jan, suddenly
stopping the tightening of his strings.

Cummins stared.

"Why?"

Jan dropped his voice to an impressive whisper.

"Because I have heard her many times say, 'Bon-bon--bonbon--bonbon'--
which means candee; and always I have given her candee, an' now ze
leetle Melisse say 'Bonbon' all of ze time."

"Well," said Cummins, eying him in half belief. "Could it happen?"