ght Dr. Hunter to Whale
River--and saved Julie Breton."

Dumb with surprise at her knowledge of what he thought he and Hunter
alone knew--at the scorn in her voice, Marcel listened with pounding
heart.

"Yes, they told me," she went on, "how Jean Marcel heard the news when
he reached Whale River and, without sleep, that night hurried south for
help, swifter than men had ever travelled, because Julie Breton was in
peril. Dr. Hunter has told me all; how you and Fleur fought wind and
snow to bring him to Whale River--and Julie Breton. And now you ask her
not to thank you--you who gave her back her life."

Only the low sobbing of the girl broke the silence. In a moment the
paroxysm passed, and she looked through tears at the man who sat with
bowed head in hands, as she faltered:

"Ah, will you not see--not understand? Must I tell you--that
I--love--Jean Marcel?"

Dazed, Jean rose. With a hoarse cry of "Julie!" he groped to the bed and
took her in his yearning arms.

After the years--she had come home.

Later, Mrs. Gillies looked in to see a dusky head on the shoulder of the
man who knelt by the bed, and on the coverlet beside them the great head
of Fleur, who gazed up into two illumined faces through narrow eyes
which seemed to comprehend as her bushy tail slowly swept to and fro.

* * * * *

In June there was a wedding at Whale River, with an honored guest who
journeyed up the coast from Fort George for the ceremony, John Hunter.

The Mission church overflowed with post people and the visiting Crees,
few of whom but had known some kindness from Julie Breton. In the robes
of his order, Pere Breton faced the bride and groom. Beside the former,
gravely stood the matron of honor; her gown of slate-gray and snowy
white, carefully groomed for the occasion by the faithful Jules, glossy
with superb vitality; her great neck circled by a white ribbon knotted
in a bow--which it had required days to accustom her to wear--in strange
contrast to the massive dignity of the head. From priest to bride and
groom, curiously her slant eyes shifted, in wonder at the proceeding.

The ceremony over, the bride impulsively kissed the slate-gray head of
the dog while a hum of approval swept the church. Then, before repairing
with their friends to the Mission House, where the groaning table
awaited them, Julie and Jean Marcel, accompanied by Fleur, went to the
stockade. Three gray noses thrust through the