Year: 1876

long hours at the little cottage. Every
morning and every night, the mother look
ed towards the forest as she opened or
shut the door. But the girl for whom she
looked did not come. The summer ended;
the vine on the wall turned scarlet, and
the gaudy bean tainted to the ground un-
der cruel frost. the fields were bron zed
and the woods all af1ame for few glori-
Gus days, then the winter was with the
cottagers.


In the forest the summer had passed like
a happy dream to the two wanderers.
Marie's fears that her mother would have
no clue to her whereabouts, were quieted
by the promise OF the priest. to whom she
and Antoine had gone, that he would send
a messenger to the cure of her parish, and
thus clear away the mystery of her alb.
sence. And, not knowing that the mes
sage never reached her home, she, after
her first hours of remorse and self-reproach
gave herself up to the happiness of wan
dering alone with the lover from whom she
had been separated-save for few stolen
meetings-so long. And the days passed
far more swiftly with them than in the
saddened home.


After leaving the Indian camp to which
Antoine had first directed their steps, it
seemed to Marie that they wandered aim
lessly on. But the spell of the forest was
upon her, and she did not care how long
they fingered under the rustling trees, or
darted in their bark canoe down flashing
streams, whose rocky walls echoed the
sound Of the foaming rapids, and the wild
forest songs Of Antoine. They two. it
seemed to her. were alone in an uninhab-
tied world-a world into which they had
fro, -
were they separated from the past, that
the silence and distance of death seemed
to spread between them and the home she
had left But the short summer burned it.
self out in the forest as we'll as in the fields.
The rich, sweet fragrance of the dying
leaves, and the melody of the busy depart-
ing birds filled the air their happy dreamy
summer was over, and it was time to pre-
pare for winter


There was a trading post not far away.
Antoine had said one summer afternoon,
as they sat talking of the coming winter,
and to it he argued they had better go.
There he could sell his furs to the traders,
and there Marie would be secure from at
least part OF the suffering the winter must
bring her with its many hardships But
with the thought of the companions await
ing her there, came the fear that she
would lose him if he once more felt the
wild, lawless influence that had drawn him
from his early home.


''Do not CO. Antoine. Let US live here
in this happy loneliness where we have
each other"


"My poor little Marie, thou dost not
know what the winter will be here" he
answered.


"But do know what it will be there.
Oh, do not take me. l would rather freeze
or starve here with thee. than have thee 90
with those men," and she clung to him,
weeping.


1t was in vain that he reasoned, and at
last she prevailed. Further up the stream
was hunting lodge, comfortable for its
rude build, but deserted by the trappers in
consequence ofa rumor that it was haunt
ed by the spirit of Il murdered Indian. To
that they had better go, since Marie obst-
nately preferred cold, hunger. and SEM
bodied spirits, to the company of the reck-
less band to which her husband had once
belonged.


The hut stood mere footprint in the
wilderness. 1t was belted around by a
bounding stream that even the chains Of
winter could not fetter, and which now
chanted loudly as they looked into its
shady depths. In front of them, behind
them, everywhere spread the forest, which
spoke only of nature. which held back the
slender thread of civilization that fringed
its border along the great river. And here
was to be their home, until Marie's infu-
ence should bring under control the wild
nature of the coureur deS bots, and draw
him back to ways of peace and prosperity.


The hut was empty, save for few
pieces of roughly constructed furniture,
which the hunters had left behind them.
But, desoate as it was it soon took on a
look of homeliness under Marie's skillful
hands. Against the wall they hung An
toine's gun and other hunting and fishing
implements. A bed of fragrant pine
branches was made in one corner, from
the canoe Antoine brought an armful of
soft turs, which he spread upon the floor,
and when Marie had filled the empty fire.
place with crimson and golden boughs,
their home was furnished.


1t had not been too early chosen. for
the leaves soon fell, the short. wonderful
Indian summer was over, the bleak wind
roared loudly through the high tree-tops,
the snow and rain combated for victory,
and six months winter had commenced


In the morning Antoine would go out





laden with game. Upon two or three oc-
casions he had gone to the trading post
where he had exchanged his furs, and
Marie saw her dress of civilization gradu-
ally replaced by the habiliments of a squaw
and her life shaping itself to the require
ments OF the present.


They were far into the winter before
any feet but their own had crossed their
threshold. Antoine was on the eve of
visit to the traders, and had flung himself
down upon wolf. skin before the red fire
which filled the little cabin with light and
heat. Marie sat beside him, talking first
OF his journey, and then of the spring
which was now but a few months away.
and as ever urging her husband to return
with her, as soon as the winter was over,
to the old home, and turn forever from
the forest. He listened with q smile
which prefaced promise. yet he argued
negatively for the pleasure OF hearing her
soft persuasive tones. The months she
had been with him had wonderfully soft