The Maid of the Whispering Hills

ld be, sat alone on the log step of the factory, his pipe unlighted in his lips and his moody ey

uch tact, had shut himself in the living-room, and t

rning away because of a small red flower sent a maid by a man he

dolefully, and from beyond the stockade came th

he Nakonkirhirinons. There was no moon and the twilight had deepened softly, covering the post with a soft mantle of dreams, when there was a step on the hard earth and

and the tone was new to that aud

ning's quickness softening his voice that he might not again play the has

y and the little breast lifting swiftl

ed to find the voi

it right, M'sieu, for a maid to die for love of a man, waiting, waiting, waiting for the look, the word that shall crown her bondage? L

id threw her hands across her heaving breast and g

but see, even through his astonishment,

the post-no, nor in any other this side the Red River-who did not pay homage to France Moline's li

, and he reached out a hand to draw her down on the step beside him. There was never a woman in distress who did not

ldish, and he was one day to

he meant, but upon her knees before him, with her two little hands upo

sts. See, M'sieu," she leaned forward so close that the fragrance of her curls blew into the man's nostrils and he could see that the little face was pale with a passion that caused him wonder; "see! Today came one from the forest bringing love's message

re trembling with a rigour that sh

den sound of tears in the low voice; "

palm, then clasped her hands over her face and bowed until t

d his eyes to s

ay of the blossoms

than by actual memory, he saw that golden morning when he had stopped by the Molines' cabin and watched the great husky balance on his shaky legs. He ha

nd measure, "why, Francette,-l

ue and there was no answer from

haken with sobs,-the sobs of a woman who has cast her all

in the factor's heart. She was such a little maid, such a childish thing, a veritable creature of the sunlight, like those gr

avalier with his curls and his red flowers crept into

lifted her as one would lift a child and strove to raise the weeping eyes from the shelter of her hands, but the small head drooped toward him so

one," he said

at the cabin of the Bordoux, laughing and chattering in the gay abandon of youth. She could hear their snatches of songs, their quips and l

e darkness. She tingled from head to foot at the memory of that day in the glade, and for the first time in her life she read the love-signs in a man. That change in his eyes when he had looked upon De Courtenay's red flower was jealousy. With the thought came a greater fulness of the unexplainable joy that had flooded her all these days. Aye, verily, that red flower had caused him pain,-him,-with his laughing blue eyes and his fair head tilted back ever

e came out of the dusk

ix Laroux, silent, a

confidence of trusted friends

voice tremulous with pleasure, "most a

felt the de

ich the man took strongly in both his own; "

easily reach me

de possible the long trail. Ah!

the soft dust of the roadway, she fell to wondering how it was that mention

he neared the factory, her li

ken, child. It is not love you feel, but the changing fancies of maidenhood. Play in the sun with Loup and wait for the real prince. He will come some day with great beauty and you will give no more thought to me. He must be young, little one, a youth of twenty; not one like me, nearer the

drawn and hard. The black eyes were no longer starry with passion, but glittering with failure. And the man, stupid and

iver in his arms and the curly head br

s you say, but only one thing remains.

tor hes

assionate avowal on the

against t

rld of coaxing; and, thinking to finish his gentle cur

en she threw her arms about his neck,

aren Le Moyne stood looking th

ere only they two and he had heard

e husky she fingered the carved toy of a knife i

d taken on a h