e desires it, I shall make no objections.
Perhaps by that time your love fit will be over, and you will not want
her. There is Mahnewe, why don't you make love to her?"

"The eagle mates not with the owl, nor the Arapahoe with the Snake,"
retorted the savage angrily.

"Oh! well, just as you like; yet I think she is rather pretty. Come,
chief, you cannot help but see it, as well as I. Don't you think she
would make a wigwam look comfortable, and more homelike than Jane?"

"I cannot tell; I never see the stars when the sun shines," returned
the Indian.

"It is a pity no one but an old bachelor heard that compliment it is
such a waste," laughed the trapper. "I see you are over ears in love,
chief. I know precisely how you feel. I was once in love myself. It did
not last long though, for my flame gave my keepsakes to a good for
nothing popinjay from down east; one for a string to bind round a
broken knapsack, the other to carry home with him for a show. That was
enough for me. I just told her I was done with her."

"You in love! that is capital! ha! ha!" rang out a voice behind the
speaker, who, turning round, stood face to face with Edward, who had
taken it into his head to share in the sport, and, following their
track in the snow, had come up with them unperceived.

"What sent you here? anything the matter at the camp?" they asked in a
breath.

"Nothing at all, that is why I came. I mistrusted you had some fun
together out here, and I came to share it. Come, uncle, give the whole
history of your love making. The bare idea of your being in love is
rich," and the merry boy laughed until the woods rang with the joyous
peals.

"I shall do no such thing. Do you think because I am old and ugly now,
that I have always been so. There has been a day, boy, when----"

"You were once handsome, uncle, that is a fact, and they do say I look
just as you used to. Come now, tell us about this affair."

"Well," said the trapper, mollified by the flattery, "when I was about
three-and-twenty, I was just about as green as young, and took it into
my head to get married, having persuaded myself that I was in love, and
that, if I did not, I should not live long. Polly Crane was a nice
girl, she could hoe corn, thresh grain, break fractious colts, or shoot
a bear, just as well as I could myself. She was just the one for me,
and we had got everything all fixed to be married, when a chap came
travelling up there, (making mischief I tho