d for his wife to prepare for breakfast. But
something more important than birds had kept him abroad that night.
His face was serious, and his eyes glowed with anxiety and anger as he
laid aside his gun, and spoke a few commanding words to his wife.

CHAPTER XVIII

LOYAL FRIENDS

It was broad daylight when Jean opened her eyes and looked curiously
around. It was a still, frosty morning. The sun sifted down through
the branches of the trees, and formed a fantastic net-work of light and
shadow upon the ground. A deep silence prevailed, and as the girl
looked dreamily at the lordly pines, birches, and maples, her eyes
wandered far up among their overhanging branches. They reminded her of
some majestic cathedral, with stately pillars and crowning arches,
pictures of which she had at times seen. She remembered how her father
had once told her that the forest was the original cathedral, and that
along the silent woody aisles primitive people used to worship the
Great Spirit. She understood now, as never before, how the designs for
the first cathedral had been copied from the forest.

Lowering her eyes, they rested upon the Indian woman kneeling before
the fire. It was a fascinating scene, and in keeping with the solemn
grandeur of the place. There was the humble worshipper at the
altar-fire, offering her devotions in a simple reverent manner. Jean
smiled at this fancy, for she was certain that the idea of worship was
not at all in the woman's mind. She was merely cooking the partridges
her husband had brought in several hours before.

"Good morning," Jean at length accosted.

The woman turned quickly, and rose to her feet. She smiled as she
stood and watched the girl lying there with her hair tossed in rich
profusion over cheeks and shoulders.

"Plenty sleep, eh?" she asked.

"Yes, I have had a great sleep, and am much rested. It is very
comfortable here."

"Hungry, eh?"

"Why, I believe I am," and Jean laughed. "What are you cooking?"

"Bird. Sam ketch'm. Good. Smell'm?"

"I certainly do, and it makes my mouth water."

The woman at once stooped, dipped a cup into the pot which was
simmering over the coals, and handed it to Jean.

"Soup. Good," she said.

"It is good," Jean agreed after she had tasted it. "This will make me
strong. You are a fine cook. What is your name?"

"Kitty."

"Kitty what?"

"Kitty Sam."

"Is that all?"

"A-ha-ha."

"But you have an Indian name, h