ul of
wood.

Menard was thoughtful during the evening meal. Afterward he slipped
his arm through Father Claude's, and led him for a short walk, giving
him an account of the incident. "I didn't say anything at the time,"
he concluded, "partly because I thought I might be mistaken, and
partly because it would have been the worst thing I could do. I begin
to see--I should have foreseen it before I spoke to him about the
girl--that we have trouble ahead, Father, with these precious
children. I confess I don't know just what to do about it. We must
think it over. Anyway, you had better talk to her. She would tell you
what she wouldn't tell me. If he's annoying her, we must know it."

Father Claude was troubled.

"The maid is in our care," he said, "and also in that of Lieutenant
Danton. It would seem that he--"

"There's no use in expecting him to take any responsibility, Father."

"Yes, I suppose you are right. He is a child."

"Will you go to the maid, Father, and get straight at the truth? You
see that I cannot meddle with her thoughts without danger of being
misinterpreted. It is you who must be her adviser."

The priest acquiesced, and they returned to the camp, to find the maid
still sitting alone, with a troubled face, and Danton puttering about
the fire with a show of keeping himself occupied. They ate in silence,
in spite of Menard's efforts to arouse them. After the meal they hung
about, each hesitating to wander away, and yet seeing no pleasure in
gathering about the fire. Menard saw that Father Claude had it in mind
to speak to the maid, so he got Danton away on a pretext of looking
over the stores. But he said nothing of the episode that was in all
their minds, preferring to await the priest's report.

After the maid had gone to her couch beneath the canoe, and Danton had
wandered into the wilderness that was all about them, Father Claude
joined Menard at the fire.

"Well, Father, what word?"

"Softly, M'sieu. It is not likely that she sleeps as yet."

"Well?"

"I have talked long with her, but she is of a stubborn mind."

"How is that?"

"She was angry at first. She spoke hastily, and asked me in short
terms to leave her in solitude. And then, after a time, when she began
to see that it was her welfare and our duty which I had in mind, and
not an idle curiosity, she was moved."

"Did she speak then?"

"No, M'sieu, she wept, and insisted that there was no trouble on her
mind,--it was merely