and getting him away; but it was too late. Mrs. Whelan had seen him, and
she called out at him:

"Oh, Tim! me jool, me king, have I found ye, me imp'ror!"

She ran at him, to throw her arms round him. He stepped back, the red of
his face going white, and said, stretching out his hand, "Woman, y'are
me wife, I know, whativer y' be; an' y've right to have shelter and
bread av me; but me arms, an' me bed, are me own to kape or to give;
and, by God, ye shall have nayther one nor the other! There's a ditch as
wide as hell betune us."

The Indians had gathered quickly; they filled the yard, and crowded the
gate. The woman went wild, for she had been drinking. She ran at Macavoy
and spat in his face, and called down such a curse on him as, whoever
hears, be he one that's cursed or any other, shudders at till he dies.
Then she fell in a fit at his feet. Macavoy turned to the Indians,
stretched out his hands and tried to speak, but could not. He stooped
down, picked up the woman, carried her into the Fort, and laid her on a
bed of skins.

"What will you do?" asked Pierre.

"She is my wife," he answered firmly.

"She lived with Whelan."

"She must be cared for," was the reply. Pierre looked at him with a
curious quietness. "I'll get liquor for her," he said presently. He
started to go, but turned and felt the woman's pulse. "You would keep
her?" he asked.

"Bring the liquor." Macavoy reached for water, and dipping the sleeve of
his shirt in it, wetted her face gently.

Pierre brought the liquor, but he knew that the woman would die. He
stayed with Macavoy beside her all the night. Towards morning her eyes
opened, and she shivered greatly.

"It's bither cold," she said. "You'll put more wood on the fire, Tim,
for the babe must be kept warrum."

She thought she was at Malahide.

"Oh, wurra, wurra, but 'tis freezin'!" she said again. "Why d'ye kape
the door opin whin the child's perishin'?"

Macavoy sat looking at her, his trouble shaking him.

"I'll shut the door meself, thin," she added; "for 'twas I that lift it
opin, Tim." She started up, but gave a cry like a wailing wind, and fell
back.

"The door is shut," said Pierre.

"But the child--the child!" said Macavoy, tears running down his face
and beard.

THE GIFT OF THE SIMPLE KING

Once Macavoy the giant ruled a tribe of Northern people, achieving the
dignity by the hands of Pierre, who called him King Macavoy. Then came
a time when, tiring of hi