hat grew into a smile. And then, as if he
were not tried sufficiently, the girl herself came flying in.

"What's this I hear?" she cried. "Alluna tells me--" She saw the
telltale pile on the counter, and her face grew white. "Then it's true!
Oh, Poleon!"

He smiled, and spoke cheerily. "Yes, I been t'inkin' 'bout dis trip
long tam'."

"When are you coming back?"

"Wal, if I fin' dat new place w'at I'm lookin' for I don' never come
back. You people was good frien' to me, but I'm kin' of shif'less
feller, you know. Mebbe I forget all 'bout Flambeau, an' stop on my
'New Countree'--you never can tol' w'at dose Franchemans goin' do."

"It's the wander-lust," murmured Burrell to himself; "he'll never rest."

"What a child you are!" cried Necia, half angrily. "Can't you conquer
that roving spirit and settle down like a man?" She laid her hand on
his arm appealingly. "Haven't I told you there isn't any 'far country'?
Haven't I told you that this path leads only to hardship and suffering
and danger? The land you are looking for is there"--she touched his
breast--"so why don't you stay in Flambeau and let us help you to find
it?"

He was deeply grateful for her blindness, and yet it hurt him so that
his great heart was nigh to bursting. Why couldn't she see the endless,
hopeless yearning that consumed him, and know that if he stayed in
sight and touch of her it would be like a living death? Perhaps, then,
she would have given over urging him to do what he longed to do, and
let him go on that search he knew was hopeless, and in which he had no
joy. But she did not see; she would never see. He laughed aloud, for
all the world as if the sun were bright and the fret for adventure were
still keen in him, then, picking up his bundle, said:

"Dere's no use argue wit' Canayen man. Mebbe some day I come paddle
back roun' de ben' down yonder, an' you hear me singin' dose chanson;
but now de day she's too fine, de river she's laugh too loud, an' de
birds she's sing too purty for Francheman to stop on shore. Ba gosh,
I'm glad!" He began to hum, and they heard him singing all the way down
to the river-bank, as if the spirit of Youth and Hope and Gladness were
not dead within him.

"Chante, rossignol, chante!
Toi qui a le coeur gai;
Tu as le coeur a rire
Mai j' l' ai-ta pleurer,
Il y a longtemps que j' t'aime
Jamais je ne t'oublierai."

[Footnote: "Sing, little bird, oh, sing away!