e made?"

"For those who come to make them. But the mother country will squeeze
hard. We have not found the gold and silver yet. But after all, trade is
your best pioneer. And this is an era of exploring, of fame, rather than
money-getting. We are just coming to know there are other sides to the
world. Ah, here is Mere Dubray."

The child glanced from one woman to the other. She saw the same
difference as there was between the workmen and the few of the better
class. Was it knowledge such as M'sieu Ralph had? And the good-hearted
home-making Mere scouted learning for women. Their business was cooking
and keeping the house. But she decided she liked the lady the best, just
as she liked M'sieu Ralph better than the brawny leathern- and fur-clad
workmen. But the Mere had been very good and never scolded her now.

She brought in some little cakes and a glass of beer brewed from roots
and herbs. Madame Giffard thanked her and sipped it delicately. Some
vague memory haunted the child, as if she had seen this lady before with
the dead Catherine.

"It is a wild, wild country. There is nothing like it in France," the
lady said, in a tone of disparagement. "And how one is to live----"

"You were not in France two or three centuries ago," he returned
good-naturedly. "Most countries go through this period. Beginnings are
not always agreeable."

"But I cannot admit this is a city. Yet they talk about it at home. The
furs are certainly fine. But the Indians! You are in fear of them all
the time. And if they should make an attack here?"

"They will hardly dare now. Indeed one Indian tribe is practically wiped
out. And the fortifications are to be strengthened. We manage to keep
quite friendly, though we do not trust too far."

"But it is horrible to live in perpetual fear," and she shuddered.

"You must not look on that side of it. It is a hard country for women, I
shall have to admit."

"But I have not come to stay, thank the saints. A year maybe at the
longest. My husband is to go back when he has--what you call
it--established his claim--concession. We like sunny France the best.
Only one wants a fortune to enjoy it."

"That is true, too. But here one can do without. At least a man
can"--laughing a little as he surveyed the dainty figure.

"A year," repeated the child. "How long is a year?"

Mere Dubray had been standing in the doorway, waiting to take the cup
when my lady had finished. Now she said in an unemotional