s commonly called, stood ready to revolve
its golden disk wherever she sat.

The servants were Pawnee Indians, moving about their duties almost with
stealth.

The little Grignon daughter who had stood lost in wonder at the dancing
of Annabel de Chaumont, was now a turner of heads herself, all flaxen
white, and contrasting with the darkness of Katarina Tank. Katarina was
taken home to the Grignon's after her mother's death. Both girls had
been educated in Montreal.

The seigniorial state in which Pierre Grignon lived became at once
evident. I found it was the custom during Advent for all the villagers
to meet in his house and sing hymns. On Christmas day his tables were
loaded for everybody who came. If any one died, he was brought to Pierre
Grignon's for prayer, and after his burial, the mourners went back to
Pierre Grignon's for supper. Pierre Grignon and his wife were god-father
and god-mother to most of the children born at La Baye. If a child was
left without father and mother, Pierre Grignon's house became its asylum
until a home could be found for it. The few American officers stationed
at the old stockade, nearly every evening met the beauties of Green Bay
at Pierre Grignon's, and if he did not fiddle for them he led Madame in
the dancing. The grandmother herself sometimes took her stick and
stepped through a measure to please the young people. Laughter and the
joy of life filled the house every waking hour of the twenty-four.
Funerals were never horrible there. Instead, they seemed the mystic
beginning of better things.

"Poor Madame Tank! She would have been so much more comfortable in her
death if she had relieved her mind," Madame Ursule said, the first
evening, as we sat in a pause of the dancing. "She used to speak of you
often, for seeing you made a great impression upon her, and she never
let us forget you. I am sure she knew more about you than she ever told
me. 'I have an important disclosure to make,' she says. 'Come around me,
I want all of you to hear it!' Then she fell back and died without
telling it."

A touch of mystery was not lacking to the house. Several times I saw the
tail of a gray gown disappear through an open door. Some woman half
entered and drew back.

"It's Madeleine Jordan," an inmate told me each time. "She avoids
strangers."

I asked if Madeleine Jordan was a relative.

"Oh, no," Madame Ursule replied; "but the family who brought her here,
went back to Canada, and of cou