as not
to be softened. His anger, however, had behind it some sense of caution,
and what Carnac said about the smallpox incident struck him hard. It was
the first time he had ever been hit between the eyes where John Grier
was concerned. His prestige with the men was now under a shadow, yet
he dared not deny the truth of the statement. It could be proved. His
braggart hatred of John Grier had come home to roost. Carnac saw that,
and he was glad he had challenged the man. He believed that in politics,
as in all other departments of life, candour and bold play were best in
the long run. Yet he would like to see the man in a different humour,
and with joy he heard Junia say to Grandois.

"How is the baby boy, and how is madame, Monsieur Grandois?"

It came at the right moment, for only two days before had Madame
Grandois given her husband the boy for which he had longed. Junia had
come to know of it through a neighbour and had sent jellies to the sick
woman. As she came forward now, Grandois, taken aback, said:

"Alors, they're all right, ma'm'selle, thank you. It was you sent the
jellies, eh?"

She nodded with a smile. "Yes, I sent them, Grandois. May I come and see
madame and the boy to-morrow?"

The incident had taken a favourable turn.

"It's about even-things between us, Grandois?" asked Carnac, and held
out his hand. "My father hit you, but you hit him harder by forgetting
about the smallpox and the rent, and also by drinking up the cash that
ought to have paid the rent. It doesn't matter now that the rent was
never paid, but it does that you recall the smallpox debt. Can't you say
a word for me, Grandois? You're a big man here among all the workers.
I'm a better Frenchman than the man I'm trying to turn out. Just a word
for a good cause.

"They're waiting for you, and your hand on it! Here's a place for you on
the roost. Come up."

The "roost" was an upturned tub lying face down on the ground, and in
the passion of the moment, the little man gripped Carnac's hand and
stood on the tub to great cheering; for if there was one thing the
French-Canadians love, it is sensation, and they were having it. They
were mostly Barouche's men, but they were emotional, and melodrama had
stirred their feelings.

Besides, like the Irish, they had a love of feminine nature, and in all
the river-coves Junia was known by sight at least, and was admired. She
had the freshness of face and mind which is the heart of success with