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Updated: June 27, 2025
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.
"Do you take up for him, Mama Lalotte, in spite of me?" In the girl's rich brunette face the scarlet of the cheeks deepened. "Am I not more to you than Michel Pensonneau or any other engagé? He is old; he is past forty. Would I call him old if he were no more than twenty?" "Every one cannot be only twenty and a young agent," retorted her elder; and Jenieve's ears and throat reddened, also.
Candles were lighted in many houses along the beach, and amongst them Mama Lalotte was probably roaming, for she had left the door open towards the lake, and the boys' voices could be heard with others in the direction of the log wharf. Jenieve took her supper bowl and sat down on the doorstep.
The thoughtless Philip was evidently neither aware how near he was to his uncle, nor of the peril in which he stood. With foolish glee, he was pointing out the cap to little Henric; and though Lalotte could not hear what he was saying, she fancied he was rashly boasting to the child of the share in the exploit of pelting it down a few nights previous.
Jenieve, trembling also, took the wooden bowls and spoons from a shelf and ladled out soup for the evening meal. Mama Lalotte was always willing to have the work done without trouble to herself, and she sat on a three-legged stool, like a guest. The supper pot boiled in the centre of the house, hanging on the crane which was fastened to a beam overhead.
Henric and Lewis, two lovely boys of five and six years old, having promised to be very good, if allowed to sit up till their father's return, were watching their mother, who was employed in roasting a fine fat quail which their cousin, Lalotte, who had arrived at the discreet age of fourteen, was basting, and spinning the string by which it was suspended before the fire.
The joy was so new, so unexpected, she had no words for it. Lalotte Dubray had had the gala day of her life. Her peasant wedding had been simple enough.
There under a clump of bushes lay Pani, sleeping, with no fear of retribution on his placid face. And Lalotte put in some satisfactory work before he even stirred. But he knew nothing of his compeer, only they had been down to the river together. As for the child, when he returned she was gone. "Let the child alone, I say!" and Antoine brought his fist heavily down on the table.
"A man may treat his wife, when he has not seen her for two years," and he gave a short chuckling laugh. "There has been a plan in my head, hatched in the long winter nights up at the bay. Why should man and wife be living apart when they might be together? Thou hast a hot temper, Lalotte, but it will serve to warm up the biting air." "A hot temper!" resentfully. "Much of it you have taken truly!
A daughter who has a marrying mother on her hands may become morbidly anxious; Jenieve felt she should have no peace of mind during the month the coureurs-de-bois remained on the island. Whether they arrived early or late, they had soon to be off to the winter hunting-grounds; yet here was an emergency. "Mama Lalotte!" called Jenieve. Her strong young fingers beckoned with authority.
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