"Since I do not understand the meaning of the word love with very
great clearness,--I think Monsieur has expressed the doubt that I do
understand it--I would not have known where to pin the flower. I
would not have worn it at all. I would, Monsieur, if home, have set
it in a goblet, and taking my stitching, would have gazed upon it all
the day, and prayed my guardian angel to give me some hint as to
where I ought to put it on."
"You little savage, you have eluded me again. Do you remember me
telling you that some day, if you found out for me a couple of good
flocks of turkeys, I would bring you some coppers?"
"I do."
"Well, if you discovered a hundred flocks now I would not give you
one." And then he leaned towards her again as if his lips yearned for
hers. For her part, she took him exactly as she should have done. She
never pouted;--If she had done so, I fancy that there would have been
soon an end of the boyish, sunny raillery.
"Hallo! Petite, we are away, away in the rear. Set your horse going,
for we must keep up with our escort." Away they went over the level
plain, through flowers of every name and dye, the fresh, exquisite
breeze bearing the scent of the myriad petals. After a sharp gallop
over about three miles of plain, they overtook the main body of the
escort, and all rode together through the glorious night, under the
calm, bountiful moon.
"When this journey is ended we shall rest for a few days at my
uncle's, my brave Cree," Stephens said. "Running through the grounds
is a little brook swarming with fish. Will you come fishing with me
there, petite?"
"Oui, avec grand plaisir, Monsieur."
"Of course, you shall fish with a pin-hook. I am not going to see
you catch yourself with a barbed hook, like that which I shall use"
"Oh, Monsieur! Why will you always treat me as a baby!" and there
was the most delicate, yet an utterly indescribable, sort of reproach
in her voice and attitude, as she spoke these words.
"Then it is not a baby by any means," and he looked with undisguised
admiration upon the maiden, with all the mystic grace and the perfect
development of her young womanhood. "It is a woman, a perfect little
woman, a fairer, a sweeter, my own mignonnette, than any girl ever
seen in these plains in all their history."
"Oh, Monsieur is now gone to the other extreme. He is talking
dangerously; for he will make me vain."
"Does the ceaseless wooing of the sweet wild rose by soft winds,
make that blossom vain? or is the moon spoilt because all the summer
night ten thousand streams running under it sing its praises? As
easy, Annette, to make vain the rose or the moon as to turn your head
by telling your perfections."