dly on her sleek head, and said something in soft
Cree that brought another giggle into Marie's throat, like the curious
note of a bird.

In David there was a slow and wonderful awakening. Every fibre of him
was stirred by the cheer of this cabin builded from logs rough-hewn out
of the forest; his body, weakened by the months of mental and physical
anguish which had been his burden, seemed filled with a new strength.
Unconsciously he was smiling and his soul was rising out of its dark
prison as he saw Thoreau's big hand stroking Marie's shining hair. He
was watching Thoreau when, at a word from Marie, the Frenchman suddenly
swung open the oven door and pulled forth a huge roasting pan.

At sight of the pan Father Roland gave a joyous cry, and he rubbed his
hands raspingly together. The rich aroma of that pan! A delicious whiff
of it had struck their nostrils even before the cabin door had
opened--that and a perfume of coffee; but not until now did the
fragrance of the oven and the pan smite them with all its potency.

"Mallards fattened on wild rice, and a rabbit--my favourite--a rabbit
roasted with an onion where his heart was, and well peppered," gloated
the Little Missioner. "Dear Heaven! was there ever such a mess to put
strength into a man's gizzard, David? And coffee--this coffee of
Marie's! It is more than ambrosia. It is an elixir which transforms a
cup into a fountain of youth. Take off your coat, David; take off your
coat and make yourself at home!"

As David stripped off his coat, and followed that with his collar and
tie, he thought of his steamer trunk with its Tuxedo and dress-coat, its
pique shirts and poke collars, its suede gloves and kid-topped patent
leathers, and he felt the tips of his ears beginning to burn. He was
sorry now that he had given the Missioner the check to that trunk.

A minute later he was sousing his face in a big tin wash-basin, and then
drying it on a towel that had once been a burlap bag. But he had noticed
that it was clean--as clean as the pink-flushed face of Marie. And the
Frenchman himself, with all his hair, and his beard, and his rough-worn
clothing, was as clean as the burlap towelling. Being a stranger,
suddenly plunged into a life entirely new to him, these things impressed
David.

When they sat down to the table--Thoreau sitting for company, and Marie
standing behind them--he was at a loss at first to know how to begin.
His plate was of tin and a foot in diameter,