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Helpless, bruised from tip to tip, one side flat under its broken ribs, he lay sullenly in the shade; of the cabin where McElroy had put him down, covered at night from the cool air by Francette's' own blanket of the gorgeous stripes, fed by her small loving hands bit by bit, submitting for the first time in his hard and eventful life to the touch of woman, thrilling in his savage heart to the word of tenderness.
"Aye, I have said, and I thank God, M'sieu, for such friendship. I am rich, indeed." "Oho! Marc Dupre does better at the lovemaking than at the trapping! His account at the factory suffers from les amours!" A childish voice broke in upon them, and Francette's impish face peeped round the corner of the nearest cabin. "Let it be, Marc Dupre," as the youth dropped his and from Maren's arm.
He was thinking of a tall form, full and round with womanhood, whose eyes held knowledge of the earth, and yet, had he been able to define their charm, were younger even than Francette's. The little maid had ceased her weeping long since and the face on McElroy's shoulder, turned out toward the night, was drawn and hard.
It is of a drollness, mes cheries," laughed Tessa Bibye one day, stopping at the cabin by the south wall; "how Francette does but sit in the shade and nurse that half-dead wolf. Is it by chance because of the owner, or that hand which carried it here, Francette? Look for the man behind Francette's devotion ever!"
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