nding took in only
foolish pleasures. What miladi needed was companionship. Ah! if she
could return to France. If Laurent would only consent. But now he
thought only of fortune-making.

"And a return at the end. He is not taking root here. I am. I like the
boundless freedom of this new country," said Destournier.

"You will marry. There is some demoiselle at home on whom your heart is
set. And the old friendship will go for naught. You have been--yes, like
a brother," and she flushed.

"No, I am not likely to marry," he returned gravely.

"But--you will not return," in a desperate kind of tone. "You will be
won by Paris."

"I shall return. All my interests are here. And as I said--I shall leave
my heart in this new country."

Then she smiled, a little secure in the thought that she had no rival.

So again the Sieur de Champlain set sail for France, and many a
discourse he held with Ralph Destournier on the future of Quebec, that
child of his dreams and his heart. It would be fame enough, he thought,
to be handed down to posterity as the founder of Quebec, the explorer of
the great inland seas that joining arms must lead across the continent.

Miladi was very capricious, Rose found, although she did not know the
meaning of the word. What she wanted to-day she scouted to-morrow.
Rose's reading was enough to set one wild. Sure she was not
French-born, or she would know by intuition. Sometimes she would say
pettishly, "Go away, child, you disturb me," and then Rose would play
hide-and-seek with Pani, or run down to the Gaudrions. Marie was quite
an expert in Indian embroidery, the children were gay and frolicsome,
and there was a new baby. Pierre was very fond of her; a studious
fellow, with queer ideas that often worked themselves out in some useful
fashion. They read together, stumbling over words they could not
understand.

"And I shall build a boat of my own and go out to those wonderful
rapids. At one moment it feels as if you would be submerged, then you
ride up on top with a shout. Cubenic said the Sieur stood it as bravely
as any Indian. Why--if your boat was overturned you could swim."

"But there's a current that sucks you in. And there's a strange woman, a
windigo, who haunts the rapids and drags you down and eats you."

"I don't believe such nonsense. In one of the Sieur's books there is a
story of some people who believed there was a spirit in everything.
There were gods of the waters, of the trees