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Updated: May 15, 2025
As the sun sank lower and lower toward the north and midnight approached, the Factor began making unmistakable preparations for departure. As he turned to stride away Lit-lit's heart sank; but it rose again as he halted, half turning on one heel. "Oh, by the way, Snettishane," he said, "I want a squaw to wash for me and mend my clothes."
Had the Factor gone but one step farther, perforce Snettishane would himself have mentioned the name of Lit-lit, but the Factor had not gone that one step farther. The chief was non-committal concerning Lit-lit's suitability, till he drove the white man into taking the next step in order of procedure. "Well," the Factor meditated aloud, "the only way to find out is to make a try of it."
Nor is it to be wondered that McLean's austere Scotch soul stood in danger of being thawed in the sunshine of Lit-lit's eyes. She was pretty, and slender, and willowy; without the massive face and temperamental stolidity of the average squaw.
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