in the night. She had hopes of getting rid of Michel
Pensonneau that very day. Since he was going to Cahokia, she felt
stinging regret for the way she had treated him before the whole
village; yet her mother could not be sacrificed to politeness. Except
his capacity for marrying, there was really no harm in the old fellow,
as Monsieur Crooks had said.

The humid blockhouse and walls of the fort high above the bay began to
glisten in emerging sunlight, and Jenieve determined not to be hard on
Mama Lalotte that day. If Michel came to say good-by, she would shake
his hand herself. It was not agreeable for a woman so fond of company
to sit in the house with nobody but her daughter. Mama Lalotte did
not love the pine woods, or any place where she would be alone. But
Jenieve could sit and spin in solitude all day, and think of that
chill silver face she had seen at Pontiac's Lookout, and the floating
away of the figure, a phosphorescent bar through the trees, and of
that spoken word which had denounced the French and Indians as good
for nothing. She decided to tell the priest, even if he rebuked her.
It did not seem any stranger to Jenieve than many things which were
called natural, such as the morning miracles in the eastern sky, and
the growth of the boys, her dear torments. To Jenieve's serious eyes,
trained by her grandmother, it was not as strange as the sight of Mama
Lalotte, a child in maturity, always craving amusement, and easily led
by any chance hand.

The priest had come to Mackinac in the schooner during the night. He
combined this parish with others more or less distant, and he opened
the chapel and began his duties as soon as he arrived. Mama Lalotte
herself offered to dress the boys for confession. She put their best
clothes on them, and then she took out all her own finery. Jenieve
had no suspicion while the little figure preened and burnished itself,
making up for the lack of a mirror by curves of the neck to look
itself well over. Mama Lalotte thought a great deal about what she
wore. She was pleased, and her flaxen curls danced. She kissed Jenieve
on both cheeks, as if there had been no quarrel, though unpleasant
things never lingered in her memory. And she made the boys kiss
Jenieve; and while they were saddened by clothes, she also made them
say they were sorry about the shoes.

By sunset, the schooner, which had sat in the straits all day, hoisted
its sails and rounded the hooked point of the opposi