eech! Your polish--your _savoir vivre_, does you
credit, I am sure."

"I do not understand what you are saying, but----"

"There are many things you do not understand now that perhaps you will
later. For instance, in the matter of the Indians--_your_ Indians, I
believe you call them--you have warned, or commanded, possibly, would
be the better word----"

"Yes," interrupted the man, "that is the better word----"

"Have commanded me not to--what was it you said--molest, question, or
proselyte them."

MacNair nodded. "I said that."

"And I say _this_!" flashed the girl. "I shall use every means in my
power to induce your Indians to attend my school. I shall teach them
that they are free. That they owe allegiance and servitude to no man.
That the land they inhabit is their land. That they are their own
masters. I shall offer them education, that they may be able to
compete on equal terms with the white men when this land ceases to lie
beyond the outposts. I shall show them that they are being robbed and
cheated and forced into ignominious serfdom. And mark you this: if I
can't reach them upon the river, I shall go to your village, or post,
or fort, or whatever you call your Snare Lake rendezvous, and I shall
point out to them their wrongs. I shall appeal to their better
natures--to their manhood, and womanhood. That's what I think of your
command! I do not fear you! I _despise_ you!"

MacNair nodded, gravely.

"I have already learned that women are as honest as men--more so, even,
than most men. You are honest, and you are earnest. You believe in
yourself, too. But you are more of a fool than I thought--more of a
fool than I thought any one could be. Lapierre is a great fool--but he
is neither honest nor earnest. He is just a fool--a wise fool, with
the cunning and vices of the wolf, but with none of the wolf's lean
virtues. You are an honest fool. You are like a young moose-calf,
who, because he happens to be born into the world, thinks the world was
made for him to be born into.

"Let us say the moose-calf was born upon a great mountain--a mountain
whose sides are crossed and recrossed by moose-trails--paths that wind
in and out among the trees, stamped by the hoofs of older and wiser
moose. Upon these paths the moose-calf tries his wobbly legs, and one
day finds himself gazing out upon a plain where grass is. He has no
use for grass--does not even know what grass is for. Only he sees no