ved to cast in her destiny with them. They were going into Ohio to
meet some scattered members of their people, and to effect a union with
other Indian nations, looking to the recovery of much of their power.
She went up to Detroit in a canoe, and, taking the sleeping child,
reconnoitered awhile; finally, seeing Pani sitting alone under a great
tree, she dropped the child into her lap and ran swiftly away, feeling
confident the father would in some way discover the little one, since
her name was pinned to her clothing. Then she rowed rapidly back, her
Indian ideas quite satisfied.

"I wonder if I might see"--what should he call her?--"Jeanne's mother."

Word came back that the nun was too much enfeebled to grant him an
interview. But she would receive the child. Jeanne clung to her father
and glanced up with entreating eyes.

"I will wait for you. Yes, see her. Hear her story first." The child
followed the sister reluctantly. Sieur Angelot, who had been standing,
now took a seat.

"I should like to see the trinkets you spoke of--and the clothes," he
said with an air of authority.

Father Rameau brought them. Father Gilbert and the sister retired to an
adjoining room.

"Yes," the Sieur remarked, "this is our miniature. It was done in
Boston. And the ring was my gift to the child when she was a year old;
it was much too big," and he smiled. "And the little garments. You are
to be thanked most sincerely for keeping them so carefully. Tell me
something about the life of the child."

Father Rameau had been so intimately connected with it, that he was a
most excellent narrator. The episode with the Bellestres and Monsieur's
kindly care, the efforts to subdue in some measure the child's wildness
and passion for liberty, which made the father smile, thinking of his
own exuberant spirits and adventures, her affection for the Indian
woman, her desultory training, that Father Rameau believed now had been
a sinful mistake, her strange disappearance--

"That gave me the clew," interrupted his hearer. "By some mysterious
chain of events she was brought to her father's house. I was up North at
the time, and only recently heard the story. The name Jeanne Angelot
roused me. There could not be a mistake. Some miracle must have
intervened to save the child. Then I came at once. But you think
she--the mother--believes her marriage was a sin?" What if she still
cared?

The Sieur asked it with great hesitation. He thought of the p