it.

"There'd be no trouble teaching school if the pupils could see that.
There'd be little trouble in the world if the people could see it. It is
the good on my side, the bad shoved off on yours. Who taught you such a
sense of fairness, of honesty?"

If he could have gotten his grim face into smiling lines he would have
done it. As it was it softened.

"Monsieur, I wanted to tell you that I had not been fair. I ran out of
school the second day. It was like daggers going through my head and
there were stars before my eyes and such a ringing in my ears! So I ran
out of doors, clear out to the woods and stayed there up in a high tree
where the birds sang to me and the wind made music among the leaves and
one could almost look through the blue sky where the white boats went
sailing. I thought I would not come to school any more."

"Well--you did though." He was trying to think who this strange child
was.

"You see I had promised. And I wanted to learn English and many other
things that are not down in the prayers and counting beads. Pani said it
was wrong. So I came back. You did not know I had run away, Monsieur."

"No, but there was no rule then. I should have been glad if half of them
had run away."

He gave a chuckle and a funny gleam shone out of his eye, and there was
a curl in his lip as if the amusement could not get out.

Jeanne wanted to smile. She should never be afraid of him again.

"And there was another time--"

"How many more?"

"No more. For Pani said, 'Would you like to tell Monsieur St.
Armand?'--and I knew I should be ashamed."

A delicate flush stole over her face, going up to the tangle of rings on
her forehead. What a pretty child she was!

"Monsieur St. Armand?" inquiringly.

"He was here in the summer. He has gone to Paris. And he wanted me to
study. It is hard and sometimes foolishness, but then people are so much
nicer who know a great many things."

"Oh," he said thoughtfully, "you live with an Indian woman up by the
barracks? It is Monsieur Loisel's protegee?" and he gave her an
inquiring look.

"Monsieur, I would like to know what a protegee is," with a puzzled
look.

"Some one, generally a child, in whom you take an interest."

She gave a thoughtful nod, then a quick joy flamed up in her face. She
was Monsieur St. Armand's protegee and she was very glad.

"You are a courageous child. I wish the boys were as brave. I hate
lying;" the man said after a pause.

"O M'sie