Ned Trent swung down the
bank to the shore. The boatmen fixed the canoe on the very edge of
floating free. Two of them lifted the young man aboard to a place
on the furs by Virginia Albret's side. At once the crowd pressed
forward, filling up the empty spaces.

Now Achille Picard bent his shoulders to lift into free water the
stem of the canoe from its touch on the bank. It floated, caught
gently by the back wash of the stronger off-shore current.

"Good-by, dear," called Mrs. Cockburn. "Remember us!"

She pressed the Doctor's arm closer to her side. The Doctor waved
his hand, not trusting his masculine self-control to speak.
McDonald, too, stood glum and dour, clasping his wrist behind his
back. Richardson was openly affected. For in Virginia's person
they saw sailing away from their bleak Northern lives the figure of
youth, and they knew that henceforth life must be even drearier.

"Som' tam' yo' com' back sing heem de res' of dat song!" shouted
Louis Placide to his late captive. "I lak' hear heem!"

But Galen Albret said nothing, made no sign. Silently and
steadily, run up by some invisible hand, the blood-red banner of
the Company fluttered to the mast-head. Before it, alone, bulked
huge against the sky, dominating the people in the symbolism of his
position there as he did in the realities of everyday life, the
Factor stood, his hands behind his back. Virginia rose to her feet
and stretched her arms out to the solitary figure.

"Good-by! good-by!" she cried.

A renewed tempest of cheers and shouts of adieu broke from those
ashore. The paddles dipped once, twice, thrice, and paused. With
one accord those on shore and those in the canoe raised their caps
and said, "Que Dieu vous benisse." A moment's silence followed,
during which the current of the mighty river bore the light craft a
few yards down stream. Then from the ten _voyageurs_ arose a great
shout.

"Abitibi! Abitibi!"

Their paddles struck in unison. The water swirled in white,
circular eddies. Instantly the canoe caught its momentum and began
to slip along against the sluggish current. Achille Picard raised
a high tenor voice, fixing the air,

"En roulant ma boule roulante,
En roulant ma boule"

And the _voyageurs_ swung into the quaint ballad of the fairy ducks
and the naughty prince with his magic gun.

"Derrier' ches-nous y-a-t-un 'elang,
En roulant ma boule."

The girl sank back, dabbing uncertainly at her e