d her up in my
arms. I had never seen a woman swoon. I thought she was dying, and
shouted to them below to come and help me.

The potter sat sprawling on the ground, and did not bestir himself to do
anything. As soon as my hands and mind were free I took him by the
scruff of the neck and kicked him behind with a good will. My rage at
him for disregarding her state was the savage rage of an Iroquois. The
other man laughed until the woods rang. Madame de Ferrier sat up in what
seemed to me a miraculous manner. We bathed her temples with brandy, and
put her on a cushion of leaves raked up and dried to make a seat by the
fire. The other man, who helped me carry her into the ravine, stood with
his hat off, as was her due. She thanked him and thanked me, half
shrouding her face with her hood, abashed at finding herself lost among
strangers in the night; which was my fault. I told him I had been a bad
guide for a lady who had missed her way; and he said we were fortunate
to reach a camp instead of stumbling into some danger.

He was much older than I, at least fourteen years, I learned
afterwards, but it was like meeting Skenedonk again, or some friend from
whom I had only been parted.

The heartening warmth of the fire made steam go up from our clothes; and
seeing Madame de Ferrier alive once more, and the potter the other side
of his wheel taking stock of his hurt, I felt happy.

We could hear in the cabin behind us a whining like that uttered by a
fretful babe.

My rage at the potter ending in good nature, I moved to make some amends
for my haste; but he backed off.

"You startled us," said the other man, "standing up in the clouds like
ghosts. And your resemblance to one who has been dead many years is very
striking, monsieur."

I said I was sorry if I had kicked the potter without warrant, but it
seemed to me a base act to hesitate when help was asked for a woman.

"Yet I know little of what is right among men, monsieur," I owned. "I
have been learning with a master in Count de Chaumont's manor house less
than a year. Before that my life was spent in the woods with the
Indians, and they found me so dull that I was considered witless until
my mind awoke."

"You are a fine fellow," the man said, laying his hands on my shoulders.
"My heart goes out to you. You may call me Louis Philippe. And what may
I call you?"

"Lazarre."

He had a smiling good face, square, but well curved and firm. Now that I
saw him fron