e was Lake St. Clair spread out in the
distance, touching a sky of golden blue, if such colors fuse. And the
opposite shore with its wealth of trees and shrubs and beginnings of
Sandwich and Windsor and Fort Malden; Au Cochon and Fighting island,
Grosse island in the far distance, and Bois Blanc.

"Sing," said the lover when they had gone down a little ways, for most
of the crafts were given over to melody and laughter.

He had a fine voice. Singing was the great delight of those days, and
nothing was more beguiling than the songs of the voyageurs. Delisse
joined and Marie's soft voice was like a lapping wave. Madame Ganeau
talked low to Pani about the child.

"It will not do for her to run wild much longer," she said with an air
of authority. "She is growing so fast. Is there no one? Had not Father
Rameau better write to M. Bellestre and see what his wishes are? And
there is the Recollet house, though girls do not get much training for
wives. Prayers and beads and penance are all well enough, some deserve
them, but I take it girls were meant for wives, and those who can get no
husbands or have lost them may be Saint Catherine's maids."

"Yes," answered Pani with a quaking heart; "M. Bellestre would know."

"A thousand pities Madame should die. But I think there is wild blood in
the child. You should have kept the Indian woman and made her tell her
story."

"She disappeared so quickly, and Madame Bellestre was so good and kind.
The orphan of _Le bon Dieu_, she called her. Yes, I will see the good
father."

"And I will have a talk with him when Delisse goes to confession."
Madame Ganeau gave a soft, relieved sigh. "My duty is done, almost, to
my children. They will be well married, which is a great comfort to a
mother. And now I can devote myself to my grandchildren. Antoine has two
fine boys and Jeanne a little daughter. It is a pleasant time of life
with a woman. And Jean is prospering. We need not worry about our old
age unless these Americans overturn everything."

Pani was a good listener and Madame Ganeau loved to talk when there was
no one to advance startling ideas or contradict her. Her life had been
prosperous and she took the credit to herself. Jean Ganeau had been a
good husband, tolerably sober, too, and thrifty.

The two older girls chatted when they were not singing. It was seldom
Marie had a holiday, and this was full of delight. Would she ever have a
lover like Jacques Graumont, who would look