the weight of
the world seemed to crush her frail being.

"Oh, Mother of God! Sweet Mother of God!" she moaned. "How the sun
burns, and I am very tired."

But the women of the Braves are in pain and weariness often, so Ermi
staggered on till she reached the coulee, with its boulder that had
been carried hither by the river when it overflowed its banks at the
last springtide.

Laying her burden in the shadow of the rock, Ermi hollowed out an
earthen cradle for the baby. She lined it with green, too, just as
they had done at school when any one died, and then passionately
kissing Ninon, she wrapped a bit of blanket about her, for the living
would have the dead sleep soft and warm.

Ermi tried to think a prayer, but she had forgotten them all since the
nights when Ninon was sick. She could not think of even one. She only
noticed that the white butterflies swam lazily to and fro like floating
blossoms, and that the sunflowers were wondrously beautiful as they
punctuated the rank, shaggy grass with gold. Lissome lilies swayed
gently in the hot breeze and made blotches on the earth like spilled
wine.

At midday, the lilt of a lark stabbed the air, and the sound roused
Ermi, for she rose sharply to her feet and sang with hoarse voice and
stiff lips--

"'Twas odour fled
As soon as shed;
'Twas morning's winged dream;
'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream."

The startled gophers darted into their cover and waited. When they
looked again, the mother had packed the little form in clay, had rolled
to the stone and lay face down wards on the earth. It was early dawn
when she rose from her vigil.

III

As Ermi neared the house, she saw that Wasi had returned, and with
bursting heart she ran to tell him of their sorrow. His face grew sad
and stern as he listened, but again, it lit up as he took her by the
hand and led her to see Asa, the woman he had brought as a wife to his
hut. Asa, who would be to her as a sister, one whom she would love in
the place of Ninon, the child.

There are half-hours that dilate to years, and Ermi seemed to have
suddenly grown cold. It was as though the vampire vixen who haunts the
muskeg swamp had suddenly sapped her youth. Ermi spoke nought, only
she laughed like Kayosk, the sea-gull, as he flies across Lac Wabamun,
a loud laugh and bitter, like the taste of sleugh salt in summer.

She knew the unwritten laws of their tribe permitted poly