ds of men in the glamourous cities of far-off civilization.

Jean passed from the dining-room into the drawing-room, where many
days before she had sent Donald McTavish from her presence. Her
father, who, had eaten earlier, had retired into his private study,
pleading business matters of urgency, and the girl settled herself
luxuriously near a square, snow-edged window, with a pile of
newspapers beside her easy chair.

She had not been reading long when voices raised in argument at
the front door distracted her attention.

"No," the servant of the house was saying, "you can't see the
factor. He has given orders that he cannot be disturbed."

"But I must see him!" replied a croaking voice, using the Ojibway
dialect. "I have come many miles to see him, and must go away
to-day."

"Who are you?" asked Butts, the British butler, who served the
factor's table with all the ceremony to be found in an English
manor.

"Maria."

"Maria who?

"Just Maria. I don't need any other name."

"Tell me your message, and I'll give it to him. Then, you can come
around later in the day for your answer."

"No, I can't do that. This is something I must say to him myself,
and in private," croaked the voice.

"Well, you can't see him, and that's all there is about it," snapped
Butts with finality, and he slammed the door full in the old Indian
woman's face.

At that, Jean sprang up and hurried from the drawing-room into the
hallway, her eyes flashing with resentment.

"Here, Butts," she said sharply, "call that woman back, and bring
her to me in the sitting-room. I will hear what she has to say,
if she will tell me.

"Yes, miss," and the butler, showing vast disapproval in his tone,
opened the door.

A minute later, Jean looked up to see a bent, wizened old hag
standing in the doorway, bobbing respectfully.

"Come in close to the fire. You must be cold," suggested the girl
kindly, noting the pinched brown features. "Then I will talk to you."

A leer of thanks and gratitude spread over the ugly, wrinkled face,
and the creature acted on the suggestion.

"Can't you wait to see my father until later? asked Jean.

"No, I go with my son to the hunting-grounds this afternoon," the
woman answered.

"Well, if you will tell your message to me, I will see that he gets
it."

The squaw made no reply, but searched Jean's face with her bright
little eyes. Then, she said suddenly:

"So, you're the one he is in love with?" The girl