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Here was a puzzle, neither the voyageurs, nor Wishkobun her nurse, nor her father would explain to her. The first had grinned stupidly; the second had drawn her shawl across her face, the third asked for tea! She handed her father the cup, hesitated, then ventured to inquire whether she was forbidden to greet the stranger should the occasion arise. "He is a gentleman," replied her father.
Everybody seems to know but myself. I am no child. I came to consult you my spiritual adviser in regard to this very case. Accidentally I overheard enough to justify me in knowing more." The clergyman murmured something about the Company's secrets. Again she cut him short. "Company's secrets! Since when has the Company confided in Andrew Laviolette, in Wishkobun, in you?"
Wishkobun, the Ojibway woman from the south country, and Virginia's devoted familiar, took her half-jealous stand on the other. "It is the same every year. We always like to see them come," said Mrs. Cockburn, in her monotonous low voice of resignation.
And so in mingled fear, pride, anger, and longing she remained until Wishkobun, the Indian woman, glided in to dress her for the dinner whose formality she and her father consistently maintained. She fell to talking the soft Ojibway dialect, and in the conversation forgot some of her emotion and regained some of her calm.
Everybody seems to know but myself. I am no child. I came to consult you my spiritual adviser in regard to this very case. Accidentally I overheard enough to justify me in knowing more." The clergyman murmured something about the Company's secrets. Again she cut him short. "Company's secrets! Since when has the Company confided in Andrew Laviolette, in Wishkobun, in you!"
The lines of his face relaxed. Twice he made an effort to turn away. All at once his stubborn spirit broke; he uttered a cry, and sprang forward to snatch the unconscious form hungrily into his bear clasp, searching the girl's face, muttering incoherent things. "Quick!" he cried, aloud, the guttural sounds jostling one another in his throat. "Get Wishkobun, quick!"
Wishkobun, the Ojibway woman from the south country, and Virginia's devoted familiar, took her half-jealous stand on the other. "It is the same every year. We always like to see them come," said Mrs. Cockburn, in her monotonous low voice of resignation.
The lines of his face relaxed. Twice he made an effort to turn away. All at once his stubborn spirit broke; he uttered a cry, and sprang forward to snatch the unconscious form hungrily into his bear clasp, searching the girl's face, muttering incoherent things. "Quick!" he cried, aloud, the guttural sounds jostling one another in his throat. "Get Wishkobun, quick!"
They carried the unconscious girl into the dim-lighted apartment of the curtained windows, and laid her on the divan. Wishkobun, hastily summoned, unfastened the girl's dress at the throat. "It is a faint," she announced in her own tongue. "She will recover in a few minutes; I will get some water." Ned Trent wiped the moisture from his forehead with his handkerchief.
They carried the unconscious girl into the dim-lighted apartment of the curtained windows, and laid her on the divan. Wishkobun, hastily summoned, unfastened the girl's dress at the throat. "It is a faint," she announced in her own tongue. "She will recover in a few minutes; I will get some water." Ned Trent wiped the moisture from his forehead with his handkerchief.
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