t. What was supposed to be his
ready wit in this emergency restored him to confidence, and he was able
to resume the practice that he needed so much. In a couple of years he
displayed to the wondering eyes of Dunois so considerable an accumulation
of cash that he gave Marie to him almost without the asking, and, as
Tompkinson afterward turned Indian trader and quadrupled his wealth by
cheating the red men, he became one of the most esteemed citizens of the
West.

TWELFTH NIGHT AT CAHOKIA

It was Twelfth Night, and the French village of Cahokia, near St. Louis,
was pleasantly agitated at the prospect of a dance in the old court
saloon, which was assembly-room and everything else for the little place.
The thirteen holy fires were alight--a large one, to represent Christ; a
lesser one, to be trampled out by the crowd, typing Judas. The twelfth
cake, one slice with the ring in it, was cut, and there were drink and
laughter, but, as yet, no music. Gwen Malhon, a drift-wood collector, was
the most anxious to get over the delay, for he had begged a dance from
Louison. Louison Florian was pretty, not badly off in possessions and
prospects, and her lover, Beaurain, had gone away. She was beginning to
look a little scornful and impatient, so Gwen set off for a fiddler.

He had inquired at nearly every cabin without success, and was on his way
toward the ferry when he heard music. Before him, on the moonlit river,
was a large boat, and near it, on the bank, he saw a company of men
squatted about a fire and bousing together from a bottle. At a little
distance, on a stump, sat a thin, bent man, enveloped in a cloak, and it
was he who played. Gwen complimented him and pleaded the disappointment
of the dancers in excuse of an urgent appeal that he should hurry with
him to the court saloon. The stranger was courteous. He sprang into the
road with a limping bound, shook down his cloak so as to disclose a
curled moustache, shaggy brows, a goat's beard, and a pair of glittering
eyes. "I'll give them a dance!" he exclaimed. "I know one tune. They call
it 'Returned from the Grave.' Pay? We'll see how you like my playing."

On entering the room where the caperish youth were already shuffling in
corners, the musician met Mamzel Florian, who offered him a slice of the
cake. He bent somewhat near to take it, and she gave a little cry. He had
found the ring, and that made him king of the festival, with the right to
choose the prettiest