nd landing on the
beach, and when occasionally the submissive, gentle-eyed squaws,
carrying their little pappooses, came to the kitchen door to beg, she
herself went out to see them, and bade the servant give them something.
They were Chippewas, dark-skinned and silent, wearing short calico
skirts, and a blanket drawn over their heads. Patient and uncomplaining
by nature, they performed almost all the labor on their small farms,
cooked for their lords and masters, and took care of the children, as
their share of the duties of life, the husbands being warriors, and
above common toil. Anne knew some of these Chippewa women personally,
and could talk to them in their own tongue; but it was not old
acquaintance which made her go out and see them now. It was the feeling
that they belonged to the island, to the life which she must soon leave
behind. She felt herself clinging to everything--to the trees, to the
white cliffs, to the very sunshine--like a person dragged along against
his will, who catches at every straw.

The day came at last; the eastern-bound steamer was at the pier; Anne
must go. Dr. Gaston's eyes were wet; with choked utterance he gave her
his benediction. Miss Lois was depressed; but her depression had little
opportunity to make itself felt, on account of the clamor and wild
behavior of the boys, which demanded her constant attention. The clamor,
however, was not so alarming as the velvety goodness of Tita. What could
the child be planning? The poor old maid sighed, as she asked herself
this question, over the life that lay before her. But twenty such lives
would not wear out Lois Hinsdale. Pere Michaux was in excellent spirits,
and kept them all in order. He calmed the boys, encouraged Anne, cheered
the old chaplain and Miss Lois, led them all down the street and on
board the boat, then back on the pier again, where they could see Anne
standing on the high deck above them. He shook the boys when they howled
in their grief too loudly, and as the steamer moved out into the stream
he gave his arm to Miss Lois, who, for the moment forgetting everything
save that the dear little baby whom she had loved so long was going
away, burst into convulsive tears. Tita sat on the edge of the pier, and
watched the boat silently. She did not speak or wave her handkerchief;
she shed no tears. But long after the others had gone home, when the
steamer was a mere speck low down on the eastern horizon, she sat there
still.

Y