rious women peeping
from their houses on the beach, particularly Jean Bati' McClure's
wife, could see that Michel Pensonneau was walking with Mama Lalotte.

This sight struck cold down Jenieve's spine. Mama Lalotte was really
the heaviest charge she had. Not twenty minutes before had that
flighty creature been set to watch the supper pot, and here she
was, mincing along, and fixing her pale blue laughing eyes on Michel
Pensonneau, and bobbing her curly flaxen head at every word he spoke.
A daughter who has a marrying mother on her hands may become morbidly
anxious; Jenieve felt she should have no peace of mind during the
month the coureurs-de-bois remained on the island. Whether they
arrived early or late, they had soon to be off to the winter
hunting-grounds; yet here was an emergency.

"Mama Lalotte!" called Jenieve. Her strong young fingers beckoned with
authority. "Come here to me. I want you."

The giddy parent, startled and conscious, turned a conciliating smile
that way. "Yes, Jenieve," she answered obediently, "I come." But she
continued to pace by the side of Michel Pensonneau.

Jenieve desired to grasp her by the shoulder and walk her into the
house; but when the world, especially Jean Bati' McClure's wife, is
watching to see how you manage an unruly mother, it is necessary to
use some adroitness.

"Will you please come here, dear Mama Lalotte? Toussaint wants you."

"No, I don't!" shouted Toussaint. "It is Michel Pensonneau I want, to
make me some boats."

The girl did not hesitate. She intercepted the couple, and took her
mother's arm in hers. The desperation of her act appeared to her while
she was walking Mama Lalotte home; still, if nothing but force will
restrain a parent, you must use force.

Michel Pensonneau stood squarely in his moccasins, turning redder
and redder at the laugh of his cronies before the warehouse. He was
dressed in new buckskins, and their tawny brightness made his florid
cheeks more evident. Michel Pensonneau had been brought up by the
Cadottes of Sault Ste. Marie, and he had rich relations at Cahokia,
in the Illinois Territory. If he was not as good as the family of
Francois Iroquois, he wanted to know the reason why. It is true, he
was past forty and a bachelor. To be a bachelor, in that region, where
Indian wives were so plenty and so easily got rid of, might bring
some reproach on a man. Michel had begun to see that it did. He was
an easy, gormandizing, good fellow, sh