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"On the first schooner that sails to the head of the lake; so he may set out any day. Michel is anxious to try life on the Mississippi, and his three years' engagement with the Company is just ended." "I also am anxious to have him try life on the Mississippi," said Jenieve, and she drew a deep breath of relief. "Why did you not tell me this before?" "How could I know you were interested in him?"
"I hope monsieur your uncle is well?" "My uncle is well. It isn't necessary for me to inquire about madame your mother, for I have just seen her sitting on McClure's doorstep." "Oh," said Jenieve. The young man shook his cap in a restless hand. Though he spoke French easily, he was not dressed like an engagé, and he showed through the dark the white skin of the Saxon.
Jenieve struck on Jean Bati' McClure's door, and faced his wife, speechless, pointing to the schooner ploughing southward. "Yes, she's gone," said Jean Bati' McClure's wife, "and the boys with her." The confidante came out on the step, and tried to lay her hand on Jenieve's shoulder, but the girl moved backward from her. "Now let me tell you, it is a good thing for you, Jenieve Lalotte.
"Mama, you do not understand the danger of all these things, and I do. Jean Bati' McClure's wife will be certain to get you into trouble. She is not a proper woman for you to associate with. Her mind runs on nothing but match-making." "Speak to her, then, for yourself. I wish you would get married." "I never shall," declared Jenieve. "I have seen the folly of it."
It did not seem any stranger to Jenieve than many things which were called natural, such as the morning miracles in the eastern sky, and the growth of the boys, her dear torments. To Jenieve's serious eyes, trained by her grandmother, it was not as strange as the sight of Mama Lalotte, a child in maturity, always craving amusement, and easily led by any chance hand.
Moccasins were the natural wear of human beings, and nobody but women needed even moccasins until cold weather. The proud look of an Iroquois taking spoils disappeared from the face of the youngest, giving way to uneasy anguish. The three boys sat down to tug, Jenieve going encouragingly from one to another. François lay on his back and pushed his heels skyward.
The fiddler was a nervous little Frenchman with eyes like a weasel, and he detected Jenieve Lalotte putting her head into the room. She glanced from figure to figure of the dancers, searching through the twilight for what she could not find; but before he could call her she was off.
And she made the boys kiss Jenieve; and while they were saddened by clothes, she also made them say they were sorry about the shoes. By sunset, the schooner, which had sat in the straits all day, hoisted its sails and rounded the hooked point of the opposite island. The gun at the fort was like a parting salute, and a shout was raised by coureurs-de-bois thronging the log wharf.
Jenieve desired to grasp her by the shoulder and walk her into the house; but when the world, especially Jean Bati' McClure's wife, is watching to see how you manage an unruly mother, it is necessary to use some adroitness. "Will you please come here, dear Mama Lalotte? Toussaint wants you." "No, I don't!" shouted Toussaint. "It is Michel Pensonneau I want, to make me some boats."
Jenieve, without knowing she was saying a word, spoke out: "Monsieur the chief Pontiac, what ails the French and Indians?" "Malatat," answered Pontiac. The word came at her with force. "Monsieur the chief Pontiac," repeated Jenieve, struggling to understand, "I say, what ails the French and Indians?" "Malatat!" His guttural cry rang through the bushes.
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